OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  AHGELES 


In  Love's  Domains  *  *  *  * 

A  Trilogy  T?********** 

*  *  *  *    by  Marah  Ellis  Ryan 


Chicago  and  New  York  *  *  * 
Rand,  McNally  &  Company 


Copyright,  1889,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co.,  Chicago. 


TO 

MY   FRIENDS, 

IN    GRATEFUL     REMEMBRANCE 
OP 

A  FRIENDSHIP. 


2132527 


All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
With  all  that  shakes  this  mortal  frame, 

Are  but  the  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  bis  sacred  flame. 

COLERIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

PROLOGUE 7 

THE  POET'S  STORY—'  '  The  Lady  of  the  Garden  " 19 

THE  PKOFESSOR'S  STORY — "ARomaunt" 49 

THE  BOHEMIAN'S  STORY — "Galeed" 90 

EPILOGUE...                                                                     .  813 


(8) 


PROLOGUE. 


"A  drop  of  dew  may  drag  a  deluge  down!" 
It  was  Meredith's  Clytemnestra  who  said  that, 
was  it  not?  A  wise  woman,  who  all  her  life  sought 
out  the  sunny  places,  and  let  the  deluges  fall  on 
other  heads. 

And  it  was  the  Professor  who  drew  down  the 
deluge  of  ink  for  himself,  his  young  friend  the 
Poet,  and  his  old  friend  the  Bohemian,  that 
evening,  when  he  twisted  his  wig  awry  in  an 
impatient  manner  and  growled: 

"No  chance  of  Harvey  dropping  in  to-night. 
He's  too  much  infatuated  with  that  best  girl  of 
his;  vowed  yesterday  he'd  marry  her  or  commit 
suicide  before  New  Year's.  He's  a  fool." 

The  two  younger  men  glanced  at  each  other  in 
an  amused  way.  The  irascibility  of  their  hon- 
ored chum  was  seldom  annoying  to  either,  and 
the  elder  of  the  two  reached  for  a  second  bunch 
of  grapes  as  he  asked:  "Because  he  is  in  love,  or 
because  he  wants  to  marry,  which?" 

"Both.    He  has  the  making  of  a  clever  man  in 

(7) 


8  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

him  if  he  don't  tie  himself  down  to  humoring  one 
woman's  whims  and  complicated  emotions." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  growing  immoral,  Pro- 
fessor,'' retorted  the  Bohemian,  "  why  that  objec- 
tion to  the  sex  singular?  You  wouldn'  t  have  him 
humor  the  emotions  of  a  harem,  would  you? 
Remember,  he  is  a  good  boy." 

"Why  should  they  not  marry  if  they  love?" 
asked  the  third  party  at  the  dinner  table,  a 
warm-eyed  fellow  of  twenty-four.  A  young  poet 
dreaming  over  his  first  book  of  verse.  A  young 
actor  as  well,  he  was,  who  had  played  in  the 
country  places,  and  carried  from  them  a  breath  of 
wholesome  intensity  for  his  stage  work;  a  breath 
of  freshness  and  purity  for  his  poems  that  all 
the  din  and  life  of  the  streets  could  not  scatter. 
"Why  not,  if  he  loves  her?"  he  repeated. 

"All  the  more  reason,  since  the  deeper  his 
delusion  the  greater  shock  its  awakening  will 
be." 

"Then  you  think  there  is  always  a  process  of 
disillusion  to  go  through?  A  fall  from  ideals  to 
mourn  over  in  the  married  state?"  asked  the 
Bohemian. 

"  Yes.  The  infatuation  of  love  admits  no  defi- 
ciencies, therefore  the  dishonesty  of  its  founda- 
tion makes  it  always  a  shaky  affair.  Take  from 
love  its  glamour,  strip  it  of  its  illusions,  have  it 
unsheltered  by  all  that  mistiness  of  the  imagina- 
tion, and  it  melts  into  mere  animal  magnetism  as 
surely  as  that  the  hardest  of  ice  and  the  dryest  of 
dust  make  mud.  It' s  kittle-kattle  that  same  love; 


PROLOGUE.  9 

leave  it  alone;"  and  lie  swallowed  his  sherry  at  a 
gulp,  as  if  he  had  swallowed  the  subject  and 
disposed  of  it. 

"Well,  Professor,"  answered  the  Poet,  "you 
must  agree  that  for  a  misty,  intangible  illusion, 
it  has  been  the  inspiration  of  more  great  work, 
more  noble  deeds,  than  any  other  one  passion  or 
emotion." 

"Yes,  and  the  heroes  of  those  deeds  would  ten 
years  later  look  back  on  that  phase  of  their  exist- 
ence and  think,  'what  a  jackass  I  was  to  be  so 
impressionable.'  Oh!  affection  between  the  sexes 
and  marriage  rites  are  good  things,  the  latter  pro- 
tects society,  you  know.  I  once  contemplated  it 
myself.  Oh,  yes,  I've  been  there.  But  it's  the 
mushiness  of  the  twaddle  about  the  divinity  of 
love  that  I  object  to.  It  won't  wash.  A  doctor  is 
much  like  a  priest  in  his  knowledge  of  the  domes- 
tic lives  of  others,  and  I  tell  you  we  manage  to 
see  the  clay  feet  under  many  a  cloak  of  ideality." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Alan?"  asked  the 
younger  man.  ' '  Do  you  believe  in  the  continued 
existence  of  its  happiness  in  a  spiritual  sense,  or 
are  you  too  much  of  the  earth — earthy,  for  that 
view  of  the  question?" 

"Ami?"  he  half  questioned  himself ,  with  an 
introspective  look  in  the  blue  eyes  that  came  so 
near  being  black.  "Am  I  of  the  earth — earthy? 
Not  too  much  so  to  believe  in  love's  continued 
existence  as  the  highest  help  a  soul  can  have  to 
earthly  happiness,  if  it  is  firmly  founded  on 
morality's  laws." 


10  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

" Morality!"  grunted  the  Professor.  "If  love 
is  the  divine  thing  you  imagine,  it  should  be 
affected  by  nothing  of  social  forms.  And,  by  the 
way,  Alan,  whence  comes  your  late  knowledge 
of  the  key  to  happiness  through  morality ?" 

"  By  the  help  of  one  of  the  sex  of  my  mother?" 
he  answered,  quietly.  And  the  tone  some  way 
stilled  any  reply  from  the  others;  there  was  in  it 
a  hint  of  something  in  the  Bohemian's  nature  that 
suggested  an  unexplored  country — one  his  club 
friends  had  not  suspected.  The  silence  after  his 
speech  had  grown  a  little  marked,  a  trifle  awk- 
ward, and,  noticing  it,  he  continued  in  lighter 
vein:  "But  don't  you  think  you  are  a  bit  hard 
on  a  fellow  with  your  insinuations  as  to  late 
morality?  I  haven't  been  such  a  very  black 
sheep." 

"Perhaps not,"  said  the  Professor,  doubtfully, 
"but — well,  my  boy,  they  tell  me  you've  been 
very  human." 

"Why  not?  Our  humanity  is  our  greatest 
strength.  People  who  are  virtuous  simply  through 
the  weakness  of  their  human  passions  deserve  no 
credit." 

"  Spoken  like  a  nineteenth  century  disciple  of 
Sense!"  said  a  voice  at  the  portieres,  and  Harvey, 
the  deserter,  entered  in  evening  dress,  a  Cape 
jasmine  in  his  buttonhole  helping  to  make  him 
altogether  lovely  with  fragrance.  The  Professor 
noticed  these  details  grumpily  and  suspiciously. 
Harvey  was  thirty-five,  a  clever  business  man,  one 
of  a  publishing  firm,  and  his  character  was  weak- 


PROLOGUE.  11 

ened  in  the  old  bachelor's  eyes  by  his  tendency  to 
love  affairs. 

"Sense  seems  scarcely  the  word  after  Alan's 
first  statement,"  demurred  the  Poet,  taking  up 
the  cudgels  for  his  friend.  "At  least,  not  in 
the  general  acceptance  of  the  term — not  as  it 
approaches  the  sensual.  The  sensuous?  Yes,  all 
poetry,  in  life  or  verse,  the  outgrowth  of  love  and 
of  religion,  is  full  of  the  sensuous;  and  human 
love,  after  all,  must  be  but  the  religion  of  the 
heart." 

"It  is  a  religion,  then,  in  which  you  pin  your 
faith  to  a  transitory  idol,"  answered  the  Professor; 
"  one  you  can  set  up  to  worship  through  like  any 
South  Sea  Islander,  and  carve  out  a  new  one  when 
association  shows  you  how  much  too  big  its  ears 
or  its  nose  may  be  for  your  idea  of  divine  beauty. 
The  divinity  of  the  emotion  you  extol  can  only  be 
kept  alive  through  the  filter  of  the  senses.  The 
highest  of  your  transports  can  not  rise  above 
the  earthiness  in  you.  I  tell  you  those  idealistic 
views  of  yours  have  no  practical  foundation.  We 
don't  get  our  wings  until  the  next  world." 

"A forcible  argument,"  murmured  Harvey,  in 
evident  admiration.  "I am  sorry  I  can  not  spend 
the  evening  with  you.  Your  subject  is  a  fascinating 
one  to  my  susceptible  nature — but  duties!  I  am 
a  martyr  to  duty.  So  you" — to  the  Poet — "  look 
on  it  as  a  religion,  do  you?  Well,  you  are  but 
twenty-four,  and  not  long  away  from  the  fresh- 
ness of  your  northern  hills;  and  you" — to  the 
Professor — "  look  on  it  as  an  evanescent  emotion 


12  IN  LOVERS  DOMAINS. 

that  takes  coloring  entirely  from  the  senses — a 
thing  that  does  not  endure.  Well,  you  have  been 
buried  in  anatomical  researches  for  years — shut 
up  in  a  country  college  with  only  a  season's 
breathing  space  when  you  come  to  see  how  we 
sinners  live — so,  you  may  be  excused  your 
cynicism,  as  love  is  likely  to  fight  shy  of  your 
dissecting  knife;  and  you" — turning  to  the 
Bohemian — "you  have  known  love  closely 
enough  to  create  one  of  the  most  lovable  of 
creatures  in  that  last  play  of  yours.  It  is  an 
undeniable  success.  But  what  are  your  views  of 
it  as  relating  to  the  continued  existence  of  happi- 
ness through  it  in  human  lives?" 

"  I  think  it  capable  of  producing  all  that  is  most 
high,  most  divine,  in  a  soul  sense.  It  has  in  it  all 
possibilities  of  heaven,  and  of  hell,  and,  as  I  said 
before,  to  my  mind  the  heaven  of  it  can  be  endless 
only  through  temperance  and  morality." 

"You  mean  when  two  people  love  each  other?" 

"  Yes;  a  love  that  is  unrequited  may  exalt  to 
high  work  in  an  ideal  sense,  if  the  object  is  mor- 
ally and  mentally  high  as  your  ideals.  But  it 
gives  no  such  perfection  as  the  mutual  rendering 
up  of  lives  to  each  other." 

"Come  down  from  the  clouds,  Alan,"  growled 
the  Professor;  "  what  has  driven  the  pair  of  you 
up  there  in  such  beastly  weather?  Listen  to  that 
rain  pouring  down,  Harvey.  You're  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  take  a  girl  out  to  the  theatre  to-night?" 

"I  certainly  am,"  answered  Harvey,  unruffled 
by  the  gruff  ness;  "  you  see,  I  might  get  a  chance 


PROLOGUE.  13 

to  carry  her  from  the  door  to  the  carriage.  It 
would  never  do  to  have  her  feet  wet.  No,"  he 
said,  ruminatingly,  "I  could  not  risk  missing  so 
much  of  heaven;"  and  then  he  added,  more 
briskly: 

( 'Look  here,  I  believe  I  have  a  sort  of  genius 
for  laying  plans  for  other  people's  work.  Those 
ideas  of  yours  have  promoted  one  in  my  head. 
Our  firm  want  something  original  in  short 
sketches  for  our  holiday  issue.  Now,  you  are  all 
writers;  all  in  different  directions;  suppose  you 
each,  with  your  ideas  of  this  question,  write  me  a 
love  story  to  prove  your  theories.  If  they  are 
acceptable,  I  will  have  them  issued  in  one  volume 
and  pay  you  a  good  rate  for  the  work.  What  do 
you  say?" 

"  It  would  be  a  novel  idea,"  said  the  Bohemian, 
slowly;  "but  I  have  not  done  anything  in  that 
line  for  a  long  time,  and  am  not  sure  I  am  equal 
to  fiction." 

"Then  write  facts,"  said  the  Professor,  sarcas- 
tically; "surely  some  of  your  experiences  will 
furnish  you  material,  and  you  have  much  more 
business  than  I  in  love's  domains." 

"In  Love's  Domains,"  echoed  the  Poet,  "there 
is  a  title  ready-made  for  you,  Mr.  Harvey." 

"You  are  right,"  the  publisher  answered; 
* '  that' s  a  good  idea  and  suggestive.  Oh,  you  have 
something  in  that  head  of  yours  besides  rhymes, 
I  shall  expect  something  creditable  from  you." 

"Expect  nothing  striking,"  he  answered,  "I 
am  equal  only  to  quietly-toned  work," 


14  IN  LOVE'3  DOMAINS. 

"No,  he  don't  let  his  feet  touch  earth  often 
enough  to  reach  the  dramatic  in  construction," — 
this  from  the  Professor. 

"Give  him  ten  years  more  and  he  will," 
answered  Harvey;  "well  what  do  you  say,  Alan, 
will  you  try  it?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  the  Bohemian,  "that  is,  I 
will  make  no  promises  as  to  giving  it  to  you  for 
the  public.  I  am  not  sure  enough  of  myself. 
But  I  will  attempt  a  story  with  that  idea  in 
view." 

"  All  right,  then,  it' s  settled.  Get  them  written 
soon  as  you  can.  I  must  go  now,  it  is  getting 
late.  Professor,  you  haven't  said  a  word,  but  I 
know  you'll  do  it,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  you 
wrote  the  spooniest  story  of  the  three." 

"I'll  write  you  a  treatise  on  the  anatomical 
construction  of  the  form  divine,  and  give  it  to  you 
as  a  sinker  to  hold  down  my  ethereal  compan- 
ions," growled  the  Professor,  incited  anew  into 
grumpiness  by  the  sight  of  Harvey  before  a  pier- 
glass,  straightening  his  tie,  giving  his  mustache  a 
final  twirl,  and  admiring  himself  generally  before 
sallying  forth  to  conquest.  "  Oh  no,  you  won't," 
he  said,  amiably,  turning  his  back  on  them,  and 
smiling  at  them  in  the  mirror,  "  you  will  burnish 
up  your  reminiscences  and  give  us  something 
thrilling.  By  the  way,  Professor,"  picking  up 
his  hat  and  coat,  "how  long  has  it  been  since 
you  kissed  a  pair  of  red  lips?  I  imagine  they 
would  have  a  wonderful  effect  on  your  imagina- 
tion for  the  subject.  Don't  look  so  horrified.  I 


PROLOGUE.  15 

would  prescribe  no  medicine  for  you  that  I  would 
not  cheerfully  take  myself.  Good  night,  gentle- 
men. I'll  be  in  to  see  you  to-morrow,  Alan," 
and,  smiling  at  the  Professor's  half -amused,  half- 
frowning  face,  he  sauntered  out  of  the  club-rooms 
and  down  to  the  carriage  awaiting  himself  and  the 
fair  freight  with  whom  he  was  to  share  the  delights 
of  the  theatre. 

"Froth!  froth!"  ejaculated  the  Professor,  "I 
have  known  that  fellow  ever  since  he  left  the 
nursery.  He  has  proven  successful  in  business, 
but  I'm  blessed  if  it  is  not  the  only  way  one  has 
of  knowing  whether  that  froth  means  cream  or 
scum.' 

That  night  the  mind  of  each  was  filled  with  the 
germ  of  a  story  that  was  to  be.  The  Poet,  alone 
in  his  room,  listening  to  the  soft  fall  of  the  rain  in 
the  autumn  night,  half  fancied  it  the  rustle  of 
leaves  whispering  of  the  sadness  of  the  woods  left 
naked,  and  among  the  visionary  network  of  bare 
boughs  nipped  by  the  frost  there  arose  a  woman's 
face,  as  he  had  seen  it  once — an  old  face,  brown 
and  withered  as  dead  leaves  of  autumn,  with  a 
quaint  pathos  of  eye  and  speech  that  had  haunted 
him  through  many  days.  And  when  he  slept  that 
night,  he  had  decided  to  give  to  the  world  her 
love  story. 

The  Professor  shuffled  away  to  his  room  early, 
drew  the  curtains  close,  lit  every  gas-jet,  poked 
the  fire  in  the  open  grate  until  it  got  too  sulky  to 
burn  for  him,  and,  with  his  slippers  on,  he  leaned 
back  luxuriously  to  rest,  and  then — 


16  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"A  love  story,"  he  said,  contemptuously,  "I 
never  knew  but  one,  and  I  doubt  if  I  have 
much  imagination.  Let  me  see,  let — me — see. 
What  was  that  idea  I  had  coming  up  the  stairs? 
Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure;  they  must  be  in  that  old 
box." 

And  a  little  later  he  was  down  on  his  knees 
beside  a  trunk,  out  of  which  he  lifted  things  in 
orderly  fashion  until  he  found  an  old  tin  box  con- 
taining some  old  law  papers,  old  receipts  for 
money  paid,  the  deeds  to  some  property,  and 
finally,  an  old  daguerreotype  case,  out  of  which 
something  dropped  as  he  opened  it. 

"Uh-hm!  "  he  grunted,  getting  stiffly  up  from 
his  knees,  and  studying  the  face  under  the  gas- 
light. "That's  it;  that's  Lettie.  Pretty  girl  she 
was — prettier  than  the  most  of  them.  I  wonder 
what  that  was  that  dropped?  Don't  think  I've 
looked  at  that  picture  for  twenty  years." 

He  hunted  around  in  the  box  and  found  the 
thing  that  had  dropped.  It  was  a  bunch  of  im- 
mortelles, almost  unrecognizable  from  age.  They 
were  pressed  flat,  and  tied  with  a  narrow  pink 
ribbon  with  a  fancy  edge  that  had  been  apple 
green,  but  was  now  almost  gray. 

"Lord  bless  me!  Lord  bless  my  soul!  I'd  for- 
gotten all  about  them.  Well,  well,  how  one's 
memory  does  go!  But  this  brings  much  of  it 
back — yes,  considerable.  How  musty  they  do 
smell!  And  the  moths  have  got  at  the  velvet 
of  that  case — a  pretty  case  it  was,  too.  Bah!  I 
don't  like  the  smell  of  them,  Tobacco  is  a  better 


PROLOGUE.  17 

companion."  And  lie  pushed  them  aside  and  lit 
a  pipe. 

"Ah!  that's  better!" — with  a  long  sigh  of 
enjoyment.  Then  he  looked  at  the  musty  old 
mementoes  and  smiled  grimly,  sent  a  great  puff 
of  smoke  toward  them,  and  laughed  a  little  sar- 
castically as  they  were  almost  hidden  in  the 
cloud. 

So  he  sat,  and  grimaced,  and  smoked,  and 
dreamed,  until  drowsiness  dropped  around  him. 
The  pipe  went  out,  the  fire  burned  low,  and  at 
last  he  awoke  with  a  start,  shuffled  out  of  his 
clothes  and  into  bed,  forgetful  of  the  love  tokens 
on  the  table  at  his  elbow. 

But  in  the  room  of  the  man  called  Alan  the 
light  burned  long,  though  not  very  brightly,  that 
night,  and  a  book  of  his  own,  published  two  years 
before,  was  opened  and  looked  at  long  and 
thoughtfully — a  volume  beautifully  illustrated, 
that  he  kept  always  near  him.  All  through  it 
were  passages  marked  in  a  hand  that  was  likely 
a  woman's;  and  on  the  blank  leaf  was  a  pen 
sketch,  as  delicately  done  as  an  etching — a  sketch 
at  sight  of  which  his  eyes  grew  misty  and  his  face 
dropped  low  and  lower,  until  his  lips  touched  a 
name  written  in  the  corner.  The  sketch  was  of  a 
child's  grave,  white  with  anemones,  on  which  a 
ray  of  moonlight  fell  as  it  struggled  through  the 
branches  above.  Two  figures  were  dimly  outlined 
in  the  dusky  background,  each  moving  away  from 
the  grave  and  from  each  other.  Not  their  faces, 

only  their  forms  could  be  seen — those  of  a  man 
2 


18  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

and  a  woman.    Long  he  looked,  and  then  dropped 
on  his  knees  at  the  bedside,  the  book  making  a 
pillow  for  his  head — open  as  it  was  at  the  child's 
grave. 
And  thus  the  night  closed  in  for  him. 


THE  IADT  OF  THE  GARDEN. 

THE  POET'S  STORY. 


Isae  better  wifie  there  lived  on  the  lea 

Than  bonnie  sweet  Bessie,  the  maid  o'  Dundee." 

Only  a  Scotch  tongue  could  linger  so  lovingly 
over  the  words  of  the  quaint  old  song,  and  the 
stalwart  singer,  striding  back  and  forth  with 
hands  deep  in  pockets,  softened  his  tones  to  a 
caress  as  they  breathed  of  Bonnie  Bessie. 

Not  altogether  a  scene  to  inspire  a  singer  was 
that  railroad  junction,  where  a  party  was  congre- 
gated waiting  for  the  next  train — not  a  station- 
house,  or  even  a  telegraph  office — only  two  rail- 
roads crossing,  and  a  pile  of  trunks  with  labels  of 
"  Hotel"  and  "  Theatre"  painted  on  the  ends  of 
them. 

"Three  hours  to  wait,"  grumbled  the  melan- 
choly-looking comedian  of  the  party  as  he 
watched  the  "boys"  arranging  some  trunks  to 
make  seats  for  the  ladies;  "  three  hours  to  wait, 
and  only  an  hour's  ride  to  Louisville,  no  depot, 
and  the  air  chilly  after  that  frost;  every  one  is 
likely  to  catch  cold  and  be  hoarse  as  a  fog-horn 
to-night.  All  the  fault  of  the  management." 

"Nonsense!"  broke  in  the  decided  tones  of  a 

(10) 


20  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

young  lady  in  a  gray  ulster  and  a  Tarn  o'  Shanter 
traveling  cap.  "The  management  can't  change 
the  schedules  or  regulate  the  weather,  and  it  was 
worth  losing  three  hours  of  sleep  this  morning 
just  to  see  the  sun  rise  over  those  wild  Kentucky 
hills.  Now  quit  grumbling  and  take  that  child 
from  your  wife;  she  looks  tired  out.  Why,  man, 
five  years  ago  you  would  not  have  let  her  bear 
the  burden  of  a  traveling  satchel,  no  matter  how 
small,  and  now  you  let  that  cherubic  cub  maul 
the  life  half  out  of  her;  go  along,  now!"  and 
with  a  little  push  she  started  him  toward  the 
cherub  from  the  mouth  of  which  there  issued 
music  not  at  all  celestial. 

"You  will  get  yourself  into  trouble  some  day 
with  that  authoritative  manner  of  yours,  my 
lady,"  remarked  the  singer,  who  had  stopped 
beside  her,  and  was  looking  down  smilingly  into 
the  independent  face. 

"Oh,  yes!"  and  the  head  crowned  by  the  Tarn 
o'  Shanter  was  raised  a  trifle  higher.  "  I  know 
we  jar  on  your  delicate  sensibilities  often,  we 
American  women." 

"  Not  at  all.    I  find  many  of  you  charming.' 

" Many  of  us!"  she  flashed  back.  "That 
sounds  dubious.  Well,  there  is  safety  in  num- 
bers. But  I  doubt  if  the  many  have  succeeded 
in  winning  you  from  the  ideal  Scotch  lassie  of 
your  Highlands,  or  is  there  something  more  sub- 
stantial than  an  ideal?  Yes?"— as  a  slight  wave 
of  color  crept  up  to  his  eyes  under  her  glance — 
"come,  tell  me  of  her.  Is  she  a  bonnie  lassie?" 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GARDEN.  21 

"She  is  to  me,"  he  answered,  sending  little 
rings  of  smoke  from  a  cigar  up  into  the  chill 
October  air.  There  was  no  smile  in  the  keen  blue 
eyes  as  they  gazed  over  her  head  into  the  distant 
haze  of  the  Indian  summer. 

"So!"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  for  an 
instant  and  then  dropped  it,  laughing  a  little. 
"  So  it  is  serious,  this  affair  of  the  heart.  Women 
are  always  interested  in  love  stories;  tell  me,  what 
is  she  like,  this  bonnie  lassie  of  yours!" 

"  An  honest,  earnest-hearted  girl,  that  is  all." 

"  And  not  at  all  an  aggressive  personage  like 
our  decided  Americans — not  at  all  like  us?" 

"Not  at  all  like  you,"  he  said,  half  jestingly, 
as  they  walked  slowly  down  the  track,  away  from 
the  rest  of  the  party. 

"  Of  course  not;  that  goes  without  saying." 

"Now,  now,  don't  be  sarcastic,  for  I  can't  quar- 
rel with  you  when  you  wear  that  Scotch  cap;  so 
be  good  to-day." 

"Pale-blooded,  meek,  and  prayerful,"  she 
quoted  laughingly,  "would  that  bring  me  nearer 
the  level  of  your  Scottish  maids?  I  fear  not; 
they  live  a  different  life  from  ours;  they  are  cared 
for  carefully  in  the  homes  of  their  fathers  with 
all  the  associations  of  sturdy,  clean-limbed  vir- 
tues; with  all  the  legends  of  chivalry  and  purity 
as  a  background  for  the  picture  of  their  own 
lives,  the  picture  that  is  tinged  always  with 
the  warm  glow  of  the  ingle  nook.  We  have  not 
the  same  homes  in  America.  We  are  too  new, 
too  much  of  a  migratory  class;  we  consider  our- 


22  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

selves  a  full  century  ahead  of  the  quiet  lives  of 
your  women,  and  yet  I  do  not  wonder  if  we  lose 
by  comparison  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  would 
want  his  wife  akin  to  what  his  mother  had  been." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little  way  and 
then  he  said: 

"Don't  you  think  you  are  inclined  to  be  severe 
to-day?  I  have  seen  many  happy  home  circles  in 
your  country,  though  they  may  lack  the  flavor  of 
traditional  surroundings.  But  home  is  where  the 
heart  is,  always." 

"But  one's  heart  is  not  always  in  the  same 
place,"  she  said,  with  a  little  touch  of  daring. 
"Many  of  them  change  their  address  without 
warning  and  often  leave  their  rent  unpaid." 

She  stopped  by  the  side  of  the  country  road 
they  had  reached,  and,  gathering  some  scarlet 
maple-leaves,  pinned  them  to  her  gray  coat,  where 
they  glowed  like  a  live  coal  on  a  bed  of  dead 
ashes,  while  he  stood  aside  and  watched  her  a  lit- 
tle curiously  before  he  spoke. 

"Why  will  you  be  so  cynical? "  he  inquired  at 
last.  "  You  do  not  believe  there  is  so  little  con- 
stancy in  the  world.  It  is  bad  enough  to  hear 
men  express  themselves  so,  but  it  jars  on  one  to 
hear  it  from  the  lips  of  a  woman,  and  a  young 
woman." 

"  Young! "  she  repeated  a  little  bitterly,  "don't 
you  think  there  are  some  people  born  old?  I 
can  scarcely  remember  the  time  when  I  did  not 
feel  so." 

"Come,  come,  don't  imagine  yourself  a  female 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GAKDEN.  23 

Timon.  Our  century  is  fond  of  such  fancies,  but 
they  have  their  foundation  in  morbid  imagina- 
tions, and  are  unhealthy,  and  I  will  wager  that 
close  under  the  key  of  those  non-committal  lips  of 
yours,  there  is  some  idyl  that  all  your  cynicism 
can  not  kill — something  that  gives  the  denial  to 
your  assertion  of  the  ingrained  inconstancy  of 
humanity." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly.  "You  mean  some 
personal  affair — a  love  story?" 

"  Something  of  that  sort,  yes." 

Her  laugh  broke  out  clearly  on  the  still  air  as 
she  stopped,  thrusting  her  hands  deep  into  the 
pockets  of  her  coat,  and  facing  him. 

"  Pardon  my  laughing,"  she  begged,  contritely, 
with  an  amused  look  still  in  her  eyes,  "but  you 
seem  determined  that  every  one  else  must  be 
ridiculous — that  is,  in  love,  because  you  happen 
to  be.  An  idyl  of  the  past?  lots  of  them,  my 
friend.  My  first  love  affair  occurred  when  I  was 
about  five.  I  remember  still  the  object  of  my 
affections.  He  had  red  hair,  and  a  very  much 
freckled  nose,  but  I  thought  him  most  charming, 
especially  his  timidity,  for  he  was  mortally  afraid 
of  me,  and  would  squirm  uneasily  under  my 
glance,  and  dodge  out  of  my  way  if  he  saw  me 
moving  toward  him." 

"  Unappreciative  youngster!  why  was  I  not 
there?"  soliloquized  her  companion,  throwing  his 
light  overcoat  cloak- wise  across  his  shoulders,  and 
looking  a  deal  more  picturesque  than  with  his 
arms  in  the  sleeves,  as  the  tailor  intended. 


24  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"Because  you  were,  no  doubt,  beginning  a  series 
of  the  same  lessons  among  your  beloved  Scottish 
hills,"  answered  the  girl.  "Well,  that  was  my 
first  love  affair,  though  not  the  last.  I  have  been 
in  love  with  some  one  ever  since,  and  very  much 
in  earnest  with  several  subjects  whose  names  I 
have  forgotten." 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  don't  believe  you,  and  I 
don't  want  to  believe  you,"  he  answered,  decid- 
edly. 

"Because  I  belong  to  the  same  sex  as  your 
heather-bell,  your  ideal  of  constancy?  Why,  my 
friend,  I  am  only  preparing  you  for  the  letter  that 
will  flit  across  the  water  some  of  these  days, 
telling  you  that  some  other  laddie  has  won  your 
prize,  and  that  she  is  'woo'd  and  married  and 
a'.'  » 

"  Don't  try  to  be  so  ill-natured,"  he  said,  good- 
humoredly,  "it  is  really  not  your  forte,  though 
you  have  been  trying  yourself  to-day.  You  know 
if  any  one  else  should  accuse  your  sex  of  incon- 
stancy, you  would  be  the  first  to  take  up  the  cud- 
gels in  defense." 

"I  might  be  swinging  them  from  the  dark 
ages  until  eternity  then,"  she  retorted,  "for  the 
writers  of  all  time  have  sung  the  same  song,  and 
is  it  not  Parton  who  said,  'A  woman's  heart  is 
like  the  moon,  it  is  always  changing,  but  there  is 
always  a  man  in  it?'  ' 

"  I  cry,  enough,"  he  admitted,  laughingly.  "If 
you  begin  to  lanch  quotations  at  me  I  give  in 
and  beat  a  retreat  back  to  the  Junction." 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GARDEN.  25 

"No  you  don't,"  and  she  placed  herself  in  the 
center  of  the  road  as  a  barricade.  "I  refuse  to 
return  to  the  grumbling  back  there,  and  you  can't 
be  so  ungallant  as  to  leave  me  here  alone.  I  will 
promise  to  be  good,  to  say  no  more  to  shake  your 
faith  in  the  sex  divine." 

"On  that  condition  we  will  take  a  walk,"  he 
said,  briskly,  "so  come  along;"  and  forging  ahead 
they  followed  the  road  that  curved  around  a  low 
hill  back  of  which  a  few  houses  clustered  socia- 
bly, and  from  the  windows  of  which  there  looked 
questioning  faces  at  the  two  pedestrians  who  were 
so  unlike  any  of  their  neighbors,  he  with  the 
assurance  of  the  man  of  the  world  in  his  erect 
carriage  that  bespoke  a  past  military  training  in 
far  Aberdeen,  she  with  the  jauntiness  of  a  New 
York  tailor  in  her  gray  cloth  suit,  and  the  inde- 
pendence of  a  self-made  woman  in  her  level-look- 
ing eyes,  that  placidly  met  those  directed  to  her 
and  smiled  them  down  serenely. 

Occasionally  she  would  glance  quizzically  at 
her  companion  as  he  strode  on  in  silence,  with  a 
little  wrinkle  between  the  straight  dark  brows 
that  had  a  trick  of  growing  straighter  under 
anger  or  perplexity.  Which  was  it  that  changed 
their  lines  now,  she  wondered;  so  she  looked  at 
the  strong  young  face  with  a  half  regret  at  trying 
to  upset  his  illusions.  The  spirit  of  perversity 
had  been  strong  in  her,  yet  she  would  have  felt 
sorry,  more  than  sorry,  if  her  predictions  had 
come  true;  if  his  Scotch  lassie  had  wavered  in  her 
allegiance. 


26  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

"I  should  feel  like  shaking  her  if  she  did," 
she  thought  viciously,  for  she  was  honestly  fond 
of  the  earnest-natured  actor  with  whom  she  had 
played  week  after  week  through  the  theatrical 
season — fond  of  him  with  a  sort  of  gay  camara- 
derie that  abolished  conventionalities,  that  called 
him  "Aberdeen,"  ignoring  entirely  the  name 
given  by  his  sponsors,  that  demolished  with 
her  practical  comments  its  idealism  that  made 
itself  manifest  in  the  deep  eyes  and  breadth  of 
brow,  that  often  contradicted  her  own  nature  for 
the  sake  of  contradicting  his. 

Out  past  the  village  a  little  way  an  old  road  led 
off  to  the  left,  skirting  a  belt  of  woods  and  lead- 
ing up  a  ravine,  while  the  main  one  kept  straight 
ahead,  broad,  level,  and  yellow.  At  its  forks 
they  stopped,  undecided  which  one  to  take.  A 
countryman  driving  a  farm  wagon  loaded  with 
great  red  and  yellow  apples,  met  them  there  and 
answered  their  greeting  heartily.  The  eyes  of  the 
girl  looked  hungrily  at  its  tempting  fruit. 

"Ask  him  to  sell  us  some,"  she  said  to  her 
companion,  "this  sharp  air  makes  me  perfectly 
ravenous.  If  he  refuses  I  know  I  shall  commit 
highway  robbery." 

"  Sell  yeh  some?  well,  no,  I  reckon  not,  sir,"  he 
said  in  answer  to  the  query.  "I  ain't  a  sellin' 
produce  jest  now.  But  if  you  an'  yer  lady'll  jest 
step  to  the  cart  an'  help  yehselves  yer  welcome  to 
all  yeh  can  carry.  They're  jest  in  good  condition 
now;  them  yaller  ones  is  Winchester  pippins, 
an'  the  others  is  red  astrakhans,  a  staven  good 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  GARDEN.  27 

winter  apple,  sir.  No  'casion  foh  thanks,  a  pleas- 
ure, sir;  yo  mighty  welcome,  ma'am;  that's  all 
right,  sir." 

And  he  drowned  by  his  rough  heartiness  the 
thanks  of  the  two,  and  picked  out  about  a  peck  of 
the  largest  ones  for  the  girl,  which  she  was  forced 
laughingly  to  decline  for  want  of  means  to  carry 
them. 

"  Strangers  in  these  parts  I  reckon,  sir,"  he 
said,  with  the  natural  curiosity  of  country  folk. 
'"Travelers,  eh?  There's  a  good  many  through 
here  since  the  railroad's  been  built.  Yes,  sir,  it's 
a  long  wait  for  them  cars — a-tryen'  to  pass  the  time 
a-walken  round,  I  reckon?" 

"Yes,  we  were  trying  to  decide  which  road 
would  be  most  pleasant  for  a  walk." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  reckon  ye'd  better  take  this  road 
straight  ahead,  the  best  in  this  part  o'  the  State, 
sir.  Takes  heavy  taxes  to  keep  it  in  order,  but 
it's  worth  it,  sir,  it's  worth  it.  They'  ve  jest  put  a 
new  bridge  across  the  creek  a  mile  back,  that  is 
the  neatest  bit  of  building  in  the  county,  sir, 
worth  yo'  while  to  see  it.  Yeh  won't  see  nothen 
by  going  up  the  old  trail.  It  hain't  been  used 
any  o'  late  years;  wild  land  all  along  it,  sir.  In 
the  whole  five  mile  cut  o'  that  hollow,  I  reckon 
thar  ain't  a  farm.  A  root- digger  lives  up  in  the 
hills  thar  somewhares;  half  wild,  I  reckon  they 
be,  sir,  an'  that's  all  I've  eveh  heard  of  a  livin'  in 
that  wild  land." 

"A  root-digger?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am;  folks  as  digs  gin-sang  an'  snake- 


28  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

root  and  sich.  Some  o'  them  make  right  smart  at> 
it.  These  hills  is  full  o'  gin-sang.  The  sto'es 
hereabouts  buys  it  and  ships  it  East.  Some  is 
sent  clear  to  Chiney  from  this  district.  Curious 
customers  them  diggers  be,  I  reckon — but  not 
dangerous,"  he  added,  hastily,  as  if  to  assure  the 
girl  of  safety  in  his  county.  "  Oh,  no,  ma'am!  no 
harm  in  them.  I  b'lieve  I've  heerd  that  the  man 
was  an  exhorter  long  ago." 

"  An  exhorter?" 

"  Yes'm,  a  sort  o'  preacher;  that  was  afore  there 
was  churches  through  here  much,  and  folks  'ud 
gather  at  some  neighbor's,  and  some  o'  them  'ud 
read  the  scripter  to  the  rest.  A  wild  place  it 
must  a  been  afore  my  time,  sir.  I've  only  been  in 
the  State  four  year — come  here  from  Tennessee,  I 
did.  Sorry  yeh  ain't  stoppin'  over  longer,  er  I'de 
ask  yeh  out  to  my  place;  always  glad  to  meet 
travelen  folks,  we  are.  I  live  at  the  toll-gate,  two 
mile  out;  if  yer  ever  through  this  district  again, 
I'll  be  glad  to  have  yeh  stop,  sir.  Pleased  to 
have  met  yeh.  Good-day  to  you,  ma'am.  Have 
some  more  apples?  No?  Then  get  up,  Jerry. 
Good-day,  sir.  Good-day." 

The  two  stood  munching  apples  in  the  middle 
of  "the  finest  road  in  the  State,  sir,"  and  gazing 
after  the  talkative  countryman  until  he  turned 
into  the  village  street. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  gone  home  with  him  just 
now,"  remarked  the  girl,  "I  couldn't  eat  half  a 
breakfast  this  morning,  having  to  get  up  so  early, 
and  he  looked  so  remarkably  well  fed.  Did  you 


THE  LADY  OP  THE  GAKDEN.  29 

observe  it?  In  my  mind's  eye  I  can  see  that 
man's  table  at  the  farm-house;  hot  biscuits  and 
honey,  fried  chicken  and  hominy — um!"  and 
she  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  tantalizing 
vision. 

"Come,  come,"  laughed  her  companion,  "we 
had  better  continue  our  walk  or  you  may  be 
tempted  to  follow  him.  Which  way  shall  we  go? 
Do  you  want  to  see  the  new  bridge?' ' 

"I  don't  believe  I  do,"  she  answered,  dubi- 
ously, "that  old  road  looks  most  inviting,  and 
the  fact  of  being  warned  against  it,  makes  it  the 
more  desirable  to  a  woman;  let  us  try  it,  anyway; 
I  don't  suppose  the  diggers  will  eat  us." 

They  walked  on  over  the  old  road  that  grew 
shadier  and  more  picturesque  as  it  led  up  a  ravine 
where  the  maples  were  ablaze  on  either  hill,  where 
the  gurgle  of  a  brook  followed  the  road  and 
mingled  its  low  tones  with  the  clear  chatter  of 
bird-voices  that  seemed  singing  a  requiem  to  sum- 
mer. Slim  sycamores  drooped  white  arms  toward 
them,  gleaming  spectre-like  amidst  the  crimson 
and  yellow  robes  of  their  neighbors,  looking  like 
so  many  imprisoned  Daphnes,  whose  white  limbs 
would  peep  through  the  rough  bark  in  which  the 
startled  nymph  had  found  retreat.  Laurel  was 
the  tree  into  which  she  merged  herself,  it  is  said, 
but  the  laurel  is  so  bitter,  its  weight  on  the  white 
brows  of  a  woman  has  so  often  left  deep  bruises, 
and  heartsease  seldom  grows  near  it,  and  Daphne 
was  so  fair,  so  soft,  so  sweet;  surely  she  would 
have  fled  to  the  arms  of  those  white,  graceful,  low- 


80  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

murmuring  sycamores.  At  any  rate,  I  never  see 
them  without  thinking  of  her,  never  hear  their 
rustling  without  seeming  to  hear  also  her  startled 
heart-beats. 

Clusters  of  the  slim,  white  forms  were  passed  by 
the  two,  who  were  all  alive  to  the  soft,  half- 
saddened  beauty  of  the  autumn  day.  It  was 
decked  in  all  its  royal  robes,  but  the  faces  of 
royalty  have  so  seldom  the  gladness  of  spring  in 
them,  and  over  this  day  in  its  perfection  of  flaunt- 
ing beauty,  over  all  the  bravado  it  affected  in  its 
display  of  charms  that  would  lead  you  to  think 
it  yet  strong  with  the  strength  of  summer,  over 
the  struggle  of  pride  in  the  proud  heart  that  had 
slowly  broken  and  spilled  its  life-blood  over  the 
forests,  even  while  it  smiled  bravely  on — over  all 
this  passion  and  pride  of  autumn  there  was 
dropping  the  thin,  blue  veil  of  the  Indian  summer; 
slowly,  silently,  with  the  surety  of  fate,  it  was 
closing  in  over  all  this  glory.  Saddened  it  was  by 
the  weight  of  the  message  it  had  to  bear,  for  how 
could  its  soft  voice  convey  any  idea  of  the  tor- 
rents of  tears  that  were  to  wash  all  bright  tints 
from  the  dauntless  face  of  Nature?  Of  the  low 
moaning  of  the  winds  that  would  grow  into  shrieks 
where  the  trees  were  strong  in  resistance?  Of  the 
white  shroud  that  would  freeze  the  throbbing 
pulse  and  send  all  the  blood  in  their  veins  back  to 
their  hearts,  and  then  down,  down  into  the  lap 
of  their  Mother  Nature,  where  only  warmth  could 
be  found? 

Could  Indian  summer  possibly  be  anything  but 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  GARDEN.  81 

wistfully,  dumbly  sad?  for  she  is  the  messenger 
of  dissolution,  the  Azrael  of  the  seasons. 

The  ravine  grew  more  and  more  wild,  great,  gray 
stone  shelves  jutting  out  above  and  below  them. 
Here  and  there  were  some  grassy  little  plateaux 
that  had  evidently  been  cultivated  at  some  time, 
though  there  were  no  late  signs  of  a  farmer's 
handiwork,  not  even  the  track  of  a  wheel  on  the 
old  road  that  was  half  covered  with  grass,  not 
even  the  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  on  the  still  air. 
There  was  the  sense  of  rest  and  peace  pervading 
the  place.  One  could  not  imagine  it  belonging  to 
the  world  of  the  junction  and  the  waiting  theatri- 
cal party,  the  grumbling  of  the  comedian,  and 
the  piled-up  trunks  with  their  tinsel  of  mimic 
art. 

4 'One  can  almost  hear  the  silence,"  he  said, 
stopping  with  closed  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"Nonsense!"  answered  Miss  Practical,  shying 
an  apple-core  down  into  the  ravine,  and  startling 
a  little  brown  bird  from  its  leafy  covert,  "hear 
silence!  No  one  but  madmen  or  poets  make 
such  pretenses." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  say  feel  it,"  he  amended. 
"  More  than  that  I  will  not  modify  my  speech. 
Close  your  eyes  for  an  instant  and  stand  per- 
fectly still.  Feel  the  silence?  Of  course  you  can. 
It  gathers  so  near  that  it  oppresses  you  as  with  a 
weight.  It  is  a  cloak  that  drapes  you  close  and 
shuts  out  all  sounds  of  humanity  beyond  those 
hills.  You  want  me  to  think  you  have  no  imagi- 
nation, that  you  do  not  comprehend,  but  you  are 


32  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

only  one  of  that  class  who  pretend  to  close  their 
eyes  and  ears  to  all  ideality,  for  fear  of  being 
called  visionary  or  romantic;  don't  I  know  you? 
Yon  constantly  repress  all  feeling  for  fear  of 
showing  too  much." 

"  Hear!  hear!"  she  broke  in,  laughingly,  "you 
have  mistaken  your  vocation.  You  should  be 
delivering  lectures  on  Ideality  versus  Common 
Sense.  Common  sense  will  always  win,  my  friend, 
while  your  finely  spun  theories- 
She  stopped  short,  for  a  bend  in  the  old  road  had 
brought  them  suddenly  on  a  bit  of  cleared  ground 
on  which  a  log  cabin  stood.  It  had  disclosed  itself 
so  unexpectedly  that  the  subject  of  conversation 
was  forgotten.  Quiet  everything  was  about  it; 
not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness,  but  all  the  air 
was  fragrant  from  the  wealth  of  blossoms  in  the 
garden  about  the  rustic  cottage,  and  as  they  drew 
nearer  they  noticed,  in  wonder,  the  artistic  arrange- 
ment of  them — something  very  different  from  the 
patches  of  garden  truck  and  a  few  posies,  such  as 
generally  belonged  to  the  cabins  among  the 
hills. 

There  was  an  exquisite  neatness  pervading  the 
whole,  and  a  luxuriance  of  blossom  that  showed  a 
care  that  had  surely  love  for  an  aid.  A  path  led 
from  the  little  gate  up  to  the  door,  which  stood 
open. 

"I  am  determined  to  go  in  and  look  at  those 
flowers,"  announced  the  girl.  "  I  am  half  drunk 
with  the  fragrance  of  those  roses,  and  there  is  jas- 
mine somewhere  about,  I  know.  But  there  is  such 


THE   LADY   OF  THE  GARDEN.  33 

an  air  of  sanctuary  pervading  the  place — all  this 
stillness,  all  this  silence — I  feel  as  if  waiting  for 
the  curtain  to  go  up  on  a  transformation  scene;" 
and  she  laughed  a  little,  her  gaze  on  the  open 
door.  "Go  in,  Aberdeen,  you  may  find  Beauty 
asleep  waiting  for  the  prince." 

He  walked  between  the  ranks  of  drooping,  odor- 
ous roses  to  the  narrow  stone  step  of  the  cabin. 
His  knock  was  answered  by  the  sound  of  footsteps 
over  the  bare  wooden  floor,  and  an  instant  later  a 
figure  appeared  in  the  low  doorway. 

If  the  visitors  had  expected  some  form  of  youth 
and  beauty,  as  the  chatelaine  of  all  that  wealth  of 
blossoms,  the  figure  that  met  them  was  a  startling 
disappointment.  A  woman  it  was,  a  woman  of 
about  forty-five;  a  small,  grotesque  figure,  with  a 
quaint,  dark  face,  and  full,  steady,  dark  eyes. 
They  were  the  redeeming  point  in  a  face  that, 
without  their  keen  intelligence,  would  have  resem- 
bled an  ape's.  There  was  a  large,  wide  mouth, 
a  flat  nose,  and  the  face,  below  the  eyes,  narrowing 
until  the  chin  was  almost  a  point,  giving  it  a  foxy 
or  apish  outline,  that  yet  had  none  of  the  coarse- 
ness of  animalism  in  it.  It  was  saved  from  that 
by  the  breadth  of  brow  and  the  kindly  light  in  the 
wonderful,  dark  eyes,  eyes  that  smiled  at  the  two 
without  any  of  the  shyness  so  often  shown  in  the 
manner  of  the  country  woman. 

"  Good  morning,  madam,"  said  the  young  gen- 
tleman, a  little  taken  aback  at  the  quaint,  unex- 
pected picture,  while  his  companion  at  the  gate, 
seeing  only  the  grotesque  figure,  and  out  of  the 


34  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

range  of  that  light  in  the  eyes,  drew  back,  repelled 
at  sight  of  the  peculiar-looking  creature. 

"  A  good  day  to  you,  sir,  and  to  your  lady,  as 
well,"  she  answered,  in  a  clear,  low  voice,  with  an 
intonation  that  saved  from  stiffness  the  stately, 
old-fashioned  greeting.  * '  Will  you  walk  in? ' ' 

"  We  only  stopped  to  look  at  your  beautiful  gar- 
den," said  the  girl,  drawing  nearer  to  the  chate- 
laine of  the  roses.  That  soft  voice  had  a  mesmeric 
effect,  f  olio  wing  so  close  on  the  repugnance  induced 
by  a  first  glance.  "The  flowers  are  so  beautiful 
we  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  enter,  even 
at  the  risk  of  being  thought  intruders." 

"You  can  not  be  that,  young  lady;  it  does  me 
good  to  see  young  faces.  They  have  seldom  come 
here,  but  are  always  welcome  to  me,  and,  I  think, 
to  the  flowers." 

The  two  visitors  glanced  quickly  at  each  other, 
and  the  little  woman  smiled  as  she  noticed  it. 

' '  You  think  that  a  strange  remark? ' '  she  asked. 
"You  would  not  if  you  had  lived  among  them, 
having  them  as  your  only  visible  companions  for 
years.  But  sit  you  down  and  rest.  Have  you 
walked  far?" 

"  Only  from  the  junction  below,"  he  answered; 
"we  were  waiting  for  a  train  north,  and  come  up 
this  ravine  for  a  walk.  The  road  is  so  grass- 
grown,  we  scarcely  expected  to  find  a  house 
here." 

"Yes,  it  has  not  had  much  travel  for  years, 
and  is  badly  washed  in  places.  Once  in  a  great 
while,  people  come  past  here  to  the  church-yard 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  GAKDEN.  35 

above,  but  not  often — not  often,  for  the  main  road 
to  it  lies  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill." 

"  You  have  not  lived  here  long,  then?"  asked 
the  girl,  thinking  of  the  unused  road. 

"  Twenty-five  years  next  spring  since  my  hus- 
band and  I  came  to  live  in  this  house.  Time 
seems  long  or  short,  according  to  how  it  is  lived, 
young  lady.  Some  of  the  years  were  very  short 
ones  to  us.  He  is  up  there  now,"  and  she  nod- 
ded her  head  toward  a  well-worn  path  leading  up 
over  a  knoll  beside  the  house,  and  disappearing 
in  the  woods  above. 

"Are  the  flowers  your  own  special  care?" 
asked  the  girl.  "Husbands,  especially  working 
men,  have  seldom  time  for  their  cultivation." 

"  He  could  always  find  time  for  them,  he  loved 
them  so  dearly,  even  as  a  boy,  and  I  think — I 
think  he  does  yet,"  and  her  eyes  looked  past 
them  a  little  wistfully  toward  the  path  up  which 
her  husband  had  evidently  gone.  "This  rose 
tree  here  at  the  door,  he  planted  twenty  years  ago 
— a  little  slip  it  was.  He  brought  it  from  Missis- 
sippi one  spring  when  the  river  raised,  and  the 
rafts  were  sent  down  with  the  freshet.  They  told 
him  it  would  never  grow  here,  that  the  climate 
was  too  severe,  but  he  said  it  would  grow  for  him, 
he  knew,  and  so  it  did.  He  coaxed  and  petted  it 
into  bloom,  and  it  has  richly  repaid  him.  It  is 
the  most  fragrant  of  all  the  creeping  things,"  and 
she  raised  her  hand,  pulling  down  to  her  cheek  a 
large  crimson  rose,  whose  golden  heart  seemed  to 
open  under  her  touch  to  a  richer  perfume,  as  her 


36  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

brown  fingers  lingered  lovingly  over  the  shiny 
green  of  its  leaves  as  she  let  it  swing  softly  back 
to  its  place.  "Yes,  yes,  the  flowers  are  always 
grateful  to  the  people  who  care  for  them,  and 
they  know  so  well  the  difference  between  earnest 
love  and  careless  admiration.  They  are  very 
discerning,  the  eyes  of  the  flowers." 

Her  voice  was  the  softest  and  sweetest  the  girl 
thought  she  had  ever  listened  to.  There  was 
silence  for  a  little  while  after  she  ceased,  and 
vaguely  conscious  of  a  wish  that  she  would  continue 
to  speak  in  that  soothing,  mesmeric  tone,  after 
which  any  other  voice  would  seem  discordant,  they 
wondered  at  the  refinement  of  her  speech,  that 
was  such  a  contrast  to  her  surroundings.  She 
looked  poor;  her  dress  of  dark  calico  was  worn 
and  patched,  the  floor  of  her  cabin  was  bare,  while 
the  furniture  was  most  primitive;  but  over  all 
was  the  neatness,  the  austerity  one  finds  in  the 
walls  of  a  convent,  with  the  subtle  air  of  the 
cloister  through  the  log  dAvelling. 

It  may  have  been  the  very  unexpectedness  of 
such  a  meeting  there  in  the  hills  that  made  the 
two  view  her  from  such  a  picturesque  standpoint. 
The  girl  could  find  no  words  of  cynicism  strug- 
gling for  expression  in  answer  to  the  dreamy 
fancies  of  this  quaint  lady  of  the  garden.  A  cer- 
tain atmosphere  pervading  the  place  seemed  to 
bar  out  all  worldly  logic,  all  cynicism  that  would 
jar  on  the  simple,  earnest  character,  whose  primi- 
tive directness  of  speech  had  unconsciously  a  vein 
of  oriental  fancy  through  it. 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GARDEN.  37 

"It  is  late  for  the  flowers  in  this  region,  is  it 
not?"  asked  the  girl;  "they  will  soon  be  gone 
now  that  the  frosts  have  come." 

"They  are  never  gone  entirely  from  me,"  she 
answered,  quietly,  "  I  keep  them  inside  when  the 
winter  comes — all  that  I  can  move.  I  have  had 
them  so  long  I  could  not  be  without  them  now, 
and  every  day  I  want  fresh  ones  for  him  up 
there." 

"  Your  husband?" 

"Yes,  young  gentleman,  these  were  his  favor- 
ites," and  she  gathered  some  golden-brown  pan- 
sies,  of  which  there  was  a  profusion  at  either  side 
of  the  door,  and  on  the  bare,  deal  table  inside,  a 
shallow  dish  was  filled  with  them.  "  'The  little 
folks J  he  used  to  call  them,  and  would  pick  out 
the  prettiest  faces  among  them  to  bring  me,  in  the 
school  days.  Across  the  hill  on  the  other  road, 
was  the  old  school-house,  the  only  one  in  this 
region  in  those  days." 

"And  you  were  school-mates?"  asked  the  girl, 
"and  have  known  each  other  always?" 

"Always,  young  lady.  I  have  no  recollections 
of  life  without  him.  Twenty  we  both  were  when 
we  married,  and  walked  across  the  hills  here  to 
this  house — in  the  spring  it  was.  The  frost  was 
yet  in  the  ground  beyond  the  hills,  but  this  little 
plat  is  so  sheltered,  the  sun  seems  to  seek  it  first, 
and  that  spring  was  sunnier  than  any  other  had 
ever  been  before,  and  the  'little  folks'  had  just 
opened  their  eyes  here  where  he  had  planted  them 
for  me  by  the  window,  and  the  hyacinths  and 


38  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

crocuses  were  open.  All  through  the  winter  he 
had  worked  and  covered  them  from  the  cold, 
keeping  them  warm  that  they  might  be  able  to 
show  their  faces  to  us  at  our  home-coming  that 
one  day." 

"Twenty-five  years,  and  you  remember  so  well 
the  flowers  that  were  in  bloom  first?" 

The  dark  eyes  smiled  at  the  questioner. 

"  Yes,  young  lady,  it  has  not  been  hard  for  me 
to  remember,  for  it  was  the  day  of  days  to  me,  as 
it  is,  I  think,  to  every  woman." 

The  two  young  people  glanced  at  each  other. 
The  thought  of  the  conversation  of  an  hour  ago 
was  in  both  their  minds,  and  the  girl  rose  quickly 
and  stepped  out  into  the  path  through  the  flowers. 

"  I  should  like  to  look  at  those  tuberoses,"  she 
remarked,  UI  can  smell  them  above  all  the  rest." 

"  Certainly,"  and  the  little  woman  arose  and 
walked  before  them,  telling  them  the  names  of 
many  and  the  widely  different  natures  hidden 
under  their  bright  faces;  of  the  crimson  poppy 
that  bears  sleep  in  its  crystal  tears;  of  the  flowers 
of  the  sun  through  which  Clytie  was  enabled 
always  to  keep  her  face  turned  toward  the  god 
she  loved;  of  the  many  varieties  of  roses  that 
broke  open  their  fragrant  hearts  monthly  through 
the  long  winters,  that  their  sweetness  might  bring 
forgetfulness  of  the  lost  summer;  with  here  and 
there  plants  and  flowers  of  the  woods,  delicate, 
fragile  creatures,  timid  and  a  little  frightened  at 
the  steady  stare  of  the  sun,  but  trying  so  bravely 
to  hold  their  heads  aloft  and  show  glad  faces  to 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GAKDEN.  39 

the  hand  that  cared  for  them  so  tenderly.  The 
spiky,  mottled  leaves  of  the  pipsissewa,  with  its 
healing  powers  hidden  under  the  shining  surface, 
crept  close  to  a  cluster  of  odorous  white  violets, 
while  back  of  them  both,  nodded  the  lemon  and 
orange  tints  of  the  wild  lady  slipper,  whose  rela- 
tionship to  the  rare  family  of  orchids  she  ex- 
plained, and  of  that  curious  union  of  the  hawk- 
moth  and  the  flower  that  propagated  the  species. 
And  of  all  she  spoke  as  a  mother  speaks  of  dearly 
loved  children,  with  a  touch  of  pantheism  in  the 
tenderness  that  seemed  to  recognize  a  brother 
or  sister  in  every  atom  of  the  plant-life  about 
her. 

"Look  here,  Aberdeen,"  called  the  girl  from 
the  corner  of  the  garden,  "look  at  this  purple 
mass  of  heliotrope." 

"Aberdeen?"  repeated  the  little  woman,  "You 
have  the  face  of  your  Scottish  poet,  young  gen- 
tleman. I  thought  you  of  his  country.  I  have 
here  that  '  wee  crimson-tipped  flower,'  his  song 
honored,"  and  she  plucked  a  pink-tipped  English 
daisy  from  a  jar  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"  You  read  our  Bard  o'  Ayr,  then?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  read  it  together  often  in  past  days.  We 
had  few  books,  but  we  studied  them  all  the  more 
through  the  winter  evenings,  and  he  was  always  a 
favorite.  Every  creeping  thing  had  his  sympathy; 
no  shrinking,  timid  one  among  the  flowers  that 
had  not  his  love.  His  voice  was  that  of  a  prophet 
who  had  a  message  to  deliver,  the  voice  of  one 
crying  in  the  wilderness,  for  he  made  clear  the 


40  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

path  for  those  who  were  to  follow  and  showed 
them  warm,  homely,  human  hearts  for  their 
study,  and  not  the  outward  forms  of  sounding 
verse.  Ah,  yes!  Burns  will  always  be  dear  to  the 
lover  of  rugged  Nature,  with  all  her  homeliness 
and  all  her  beauty." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  give  with  pen  and 
paper  an  idea  of  the  grave  sweetness  of  her  speech, 
that  seemed  like  the  speech  of  one  who  was  com- 
muning with  herself,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  utter- 
ing her  thoughts  without  a  listener.  A  strange 
character  she  seemed  to  those  two  travelers. 
She  had  evidently  lived  so  much  out  of  the  ken 
of  her  neighbors,  with  only  the  husband,  the 
flowers,  and  the  books  for  companions,  that  there 
was  a  purity  of  expression  in  her  tones  that  had 
none  of  the  slurred  intonation  noticed  in  the 
others  of  the  country-folk,  yet  she  said  her  hus- 
band and  self  had  lived  always  there.  Well, 
Dame  Nature  plays  strange  freaks  sometimes. 
It  had  evidently  been  her  caprice  to  place  those 
two  souls  together,  thoroughly  in  sympathy  with 
each  other,  yet  seemingly  so  thoroughly  cut  off 
from  all  communication  with  their  kind. 

Books,  the  great  refiners  of  the  mind,  had  not 
been  read  by  her  carelessly.  In  all  her  conversa- 
tion was  the  mark  of  thought.  From  the  flowers 
she  seemed  to  have  culled  similies  that  were 
applied  to  the  actual  life  about  her  with  the 
imagination  of  a  poet,  and  the  pure  diction  of  a 
scholar,  and  withal  had  a  stately  simplicity  of 
expression  that  was  not  the  speech  of  our  times. 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GARDEN".  41 

To  hear  her  talk  was  like  hearing  the  lines  of 
Scott  or  of  Lytton. 

"I  saw  her  books  on  that  little  shelf  by  the 
door- way,"  whispered  the  girl  to  her  compan- 
ion. "There  was  the  Bible,  Goldsmith's  Ani- 
mated Nature,  Swift's  Letters,  and  Taine's  Lit- 
erature, besides  a  few  without  covers.  Suppose 
we  had  to  confine  our  reading  to  those,  we  would 
think  ourselves  back  in  the  dark  ages." 

The  little  lady  seemed  altogether  delighted  to 
hear  their  admiring  praise  of  her  garden. 

"It  is  as  he  planned  it  years  ago,"  she  said, 
"before  he  went  up  there,  and  to  see  it  changed 
in  any  way  would  be  a  grief  to  him,  I  think. 
You  see  this  grass,"  and  she  pointed  to  a  great 
tuft  of  the  white  and  green  ribbon-grass  near  the 
paling,  "that  came  from  his  mother's  garden 
years  ago,  before  she  had  left  our  world.  I  use  it 
always  to  tie  together  the  flowers  for  him  in  the 
morning.  I  fancy  it  will  please  him  most.  As 
children  we  used  to  search  for  hours  to  find  two 
of  the  blades  exactly  alike,  but  we  never  could; 
they  are  as  varied  as  the  faces  our  Maker  has 
given  to  humanity.  Did  you  ever  think  of  that 
mighty  work  of  the  Master  who  never  gives  a 
duplicate,  always  an  original  to  this  magnificent 
gallery  of  his — the  world?  The  flowers  bring  us 
so  many  lessons  if  we  but  open  our  ears  to  listen. 
I  have  listened  and  watched  them  so  long  that  I 
have  few  thoughts  not  associated  with  them. 
This  may  all  seem  strange  to  you  who  lead  such  a 
different  life." 


42  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

"I  think  your  companions  most  beautiful," 
said  the  girl,  impulsively,  "  and  as  for  you — well, 
I  do  not  wonder  they  love  you.  You  seem  made 
for  each  other.  We  have  been  more  than  enter- 
tained to-day,  and  you  have  given  us  lessons  from 
the  flowers  that  I  promise  you  will  not  be  care- 
lessly forgotten." 

The  laughing,  mocking  light  was  all  gone  from 
the  level-looking  eyes  of  the  girl,  and  her  voice 
was  not  quite  steady.  For  once  she  was  earnest 
with  an  earnestness  that  did  not  cloak  itself 
with  cynicism.  There  was  something  in  the  sim- 
ple life  and  speech  of  the  little  lady  that  bespoke 
a  grand  patience  and  a  simple  veneration  such  as 
is  conferred  only  by  the  kiss  of  God.  The 
young  woman  of  the  world  felt  this  dimly,  felt 
drawn  by  the  mesmeric  tones  into  a  higher,  purer 
atmosphere,  into  the  air  that  is  breathed  by  those 
who  live  outside  the  artificial  boundaries  of  what 
is  called  our  world,  to  whom  the  life  blood  of 
thought  has  been  given  warm  from  the  veins  that 
lie  closest  to  the  heart  of  nature. 

"And  I  thought  her  homely,"  said  the  girl, 
softly,  to  her  companion,  as  she  gathered  some  of 
the  bright  grass  to  tie  some  roses  given  by  the 
generous  brown  hand.  "Homely!  I  can  not 
realize  it  now." 

"  She  is  grand,"  he  answered  in  the  same  tone, 
"and  to  think  that  every  morning  she  presents  to 
her  husband  a  bouquet  of  these  blossoms.  Where 
can  you  find  a  more  delicate  manner  of  expressing 
devotion?  I  should  like  to  see  him;  he  must  be 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  GAKDEN.  43 

an  exceptional  man  to  be  worthy  of  her.  It  is  an 
ideal  home  despite  the  primitive  surroundings, 
for  it  is  a  marriage  as  such  a  marriage  was  surely 
intended  to  be.  In  hearing  her  speak  of  him  it 
recalls  the  old  legend  of  a  soul  divided  into  two 
bodies,  and  sent  out  into  the  world  to  find  its 
mate.  It  sounds  visionary  but  holds  truth  in  it 
when  seen  in  the  light  that  seems  to  encircle  this 
retreat. 

The  little  lady  came  up  to  them  with  a  fragrant, 
snowy  stalk  of  tuberose,  which  she  handed  to 
the  girl. 

"  They  are  almost  gone,"  she  said,  "there  are 
but  two  stalks  left,  one  I  give  you  to  remember 
this  morning11  s  walk  by,  and  that  you  have  given 
pleasure  to  a  lone  woman  by  the  sight  of  your 
bright  young  faces;  the  other  one  I  keep  for  him 
to-morrow." 

"  Then  you  are  lonely  sometimes?  " 

"Alone,  not  lonely,  young  gentleman,"  she 
amended.  "Once  I  was  lonely  here;  it  was 
years  ago,  when  these  hands  had  the  impulsive 
blood  of  youth  in  them.  It  is  so  hard  to  school 
them  into  patience,  ah,  I  know,  I  know!  Though 
the  long  nights  of  one  winter  rebellion  made 
them  clench  fiercely,  instead  of  folding  meekly 
to  His  will,  and  it  was  spring  time  ere  the  mes- 
sage was  brought  that  lifted  the  weight  from  my 
life.  All  best  things  have  been  given  me  by  the 
spring  time,  and  when  the  day  comes  that  He  is 
to  take  me  up  there,  1  feel  it  will  be  when  the 
crocuses  and  hyacinths  open,  the  same  season  as 


44  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

when  we  walked  hand  in  hand  across  the  hills  to 
our  home.  I  should  like  to  think  that  on  some 
such  a  day  we  could  go  the  same  way  to  the  feet 
of  our  Maker.  Well,  it  was  in  the  spring  time, 
and  the  trees  were  but  half  fledged,  just  bits  of  the 
tender  green  peeping  through  the  rough  winter 
coats.  You  see  that  quivering,  trembling  tree  by 
my  door?  It  is  the  quaking  aspen;  there  are 
many  in  our  woods.  Do  you  know  the  story  of 
the  passion  they  witnessed  centuries  ago,  the 
memory  of  which  has  thrilled  their  hearts  to  the 
core  ever  since?  He  told  me  of  it  long  ago,  when 
he  planted  it  there.  'Sometime,  my  wife,'  he 
said,  '  we  may  need  a  reminder  of  this  life  that 
was  given  for  us,  and  this  promise  of  immortality 
through  which  we  know  that  this  life  of  ours  is 
only  an  interval,  an  atom  in  the  grand  structure 
of  our  Father's  universe.  Rebellion  may  come  to 
us  in  our  blindness  sometime,  but  we  will  have 
here  a  whispering  reminder  of  a  love  passing  that 
of  humanity.' 

"Those  were  his  words,  young  gentleman.  It 
is  years  since  I  heard  them,  but  it  is  not  hard  to 
keep  in  your  memory  the  words  of  a  voice  that  is 
dearest  to  you  of  all  others.  And  then  he  told 
me  the  story  of  the  aspen  tree.  The  cross  of 
Christ,  they  say,  was  made  from  its  white  wood. 
The  blood  given  His  earthly  form  stained  the  deli- 
cate grain,  and  sent  through  all  its  species  a 
shudder  that  centuries  can  not  still.  It  is  an  old 
legend;  he  knew  so  many,  and  could  tell  them  so 
earnestly,  that  they  carried  always  some  lesson 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  GAKDEN.  45 

under  strange  fancies.  Well,  it  was  in  the  spring 
time  after  long  months  of  grief  over  my  great 
loss.  I  was  lying  awake  in  the  early  dawn,  re- 
bellions at  the  thought  of  days  yet  to  be  lived, 
when  a  soft  whispering  rustle  came  to  my  ears — 
so  soft  that  it  carried  a  soothing  sense  of  rest  to  a 
mind  tired  through  impotent  battles.  I  can  not 
convey  to  you  the  feeling  borne  to  my  senses  by 
that  whispering  sound.  I  lay  quite  still,  holding 
my  breath  as  I  listened.  There  came  to  me  anon 
his  words  of  the  tree  and  its  mission;  and  with 
the  first  green  leaves  of  the  spring  it  seemed  striv- 
ing to  whisper  to  me  a  reminder  of  that  grand 
patience  that  could  say,  'Thy  will  be  done.'  That 
morning  I  rose  from  my  bed  a  different  person. 
The  whispering  aspen  had  brought  to  me  the 
thoughts  he  meant  it  should  bear  to  us  when  he 
planted  it  there.  Something  gave  me  a  higher 
hope,  a  stronger  faith  that  morning.  I  have  tried 
to  live  by  it  ever  since,  and  it  is  not  so  hard  now. 
I  am  lonely  no  more.  I  have  his  thoughts,  often 
his  presence,  with  me,  I  think,  and  I  have  always 
the  whispers  of  the  trembling  aspen,  and  the  les- 
sons of  the  blossoms;  they  do  not  leave  me 
lonely." 

"  But  your  husband  ?" 

"He  is  up  there,  young  gentleman,  up  in  the 
churchyard  on  the  hill.  It  is  eighteen  years  since 
he  was  taken  there  to  rest.  I  was  a  young  woman 
then,  young  and  strong,  and  the  dread  of  my  life 
alone  was  terrible  at  first.  But  every  day  takes 
me  nearer  to  him,  and  when  age  creeps  closer  and 


46  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

the  blood  flows  slower  and  slower  in  the  veins,  it 
is  not  so  hard  to  wait." 

Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  people  as 
she  finished  her  story,  told  quietly,  earnestly,  and 
with  a  patience  in  the  quaint,  dark  face,  that  was 
touching. 

"Eighteen  years!"  repeated  the  girl,  as  the 
sense  of  all  those  years  of  loneliness  came  slowly 
to  her — all  those  years  of  devotion  to  a  memory; 
"  eighteen  years,  and  you  here  alone  through  them 
all,  with  no  other  companions?  With  no  thought 
of  marriage  that  would — 

"  You  do  not  understand,  young  lady,"  she 
said,  quietly.  "I  had  loved  him,  had  been  his 
wife;  how  then  could  I  think  of  another?" 

The  girl  bent  her  head  to  the  reproof,  uttered  in 
the  sweet,  soft  tones. 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said,  softly,  and  reaching 
out  a  white  hand,  laid  it  gently  on  the  brown  one 
that  had  wrested  its  living  from  the  herbs  of  the 
woods  for  so  many  years.  The  old  eyes  smiled  on 
her  kindly. 

"It  is  a  lesson  you  will  learn  without  words 
from  others,  young  lady,  that  is,  if  you  use  your 
eyes  in  the  study  of  your  own  kind,  and  in  the 
world  you  will  find  as  many  types  for  study  as 
there  are  ribbons  of  grass  in  the  field.  But,  among 
them  all,  you  will  find  no  woman  content  with 
the  content  that  will  last  through  old  age,  save 
the  woman  who  has  known  honest  love  and  been 
true  to  it  all  the  days  of  her  life." 

Her  two  listeners  as  by  one  impulse  rose  to  their 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  GARDEN.  47 

feet  as  she  finished  speaking,  and  there  was  an 
added  reverence  in  the  manner  of  the  tall  young 
fellow  as  he  stood  bare-headed,  looking  down  at 
the  patient,  quaint  face,  and  holding  out  his  hand 
in  farewell. 

"I  can  not  tell  you  the  pleasure  this  meeting  has 
been  to  me,"  he  said,  earnestly,  his  blue  eyes  moist 
with  a  great  sympathy  with  this  strange  charac- 
ter. "I  thank  you  for  telling  us  your  story.  It 
will  be  a  memory  that  will  help  me  all  my  life  to 
have  faith  in  human  nature." 

"God be  good  to  you,  young  gentleman,"  she 
said,  simply.  ' '  I  think  it  was  the  likeness  to  the 
eyes  of  your  poet  that  shone  through  your  own — 
his  eyes  with  a  comprehension  of  the  needs  of 
humanity  that  made  it  seem  natural  to  speak  to 
you  so.  It  might  be  difficult  with  some,  but  I 
felt  you  would  understand." 

Their  hands  were  clasped  closely  for  an  instant, 
and  then  with  alow  "thank  you!"  on  his  part,  an 
earnest  "God  be  with  you!"  on  hers,  he  turned 
and  walked  down  the  odorous  path  of  roses,  the 
tints  of  all  sadly  confused  and  blended  by  the 
tears  in  his  eyes  that  did  no  discredit  to  his  man- 
liness. The  girl  stooped  and  kissed  the  old  face, 
but  co  aid  find  no  words  of  farewell  to  utter.  It 
was  a  strange  parting,  but  the  silence  was  more 
expressive  than  words  could  have  been. 

The  two  walked,  without  speaking,  down  the 
road  to  the  bend,  where  they  both  stopped  and 
looked  back.  The  little  lady  was  still  standing 
by  the  open  door  under  the  quivering  aspen,  and. 


48  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  was  gazing  after 
them. 

The  girl  turned  away  with  the  sound  of  a  sob 
in  her  firm,  white  throat. 

"And  I  thought  her  hideous,"  she  said,  trem- 
ulously. "  Heaven  forgive  me,  she  is  beautiful!" 
and  then,  still  under  the  spell  of  the  scene  they 
had  just  left,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  her  com- 
panion. 

"  May  your  bonnie  lassie  be  always  as  true  as 
that  woman.  May  your  love  be  always  to  you 
what  hers  has  been — a  sacrament." 


A  ROMATOT. 

THE  PROFESSOR'S  STORY. 


I  have  not  been  a  romance  writer  heretofore — 
not  even  a  romance  reader  since  the  beginning  of 
my  college  days.  I  have  tried  conscientiously  to 
read  up  in  late  fiction,  with  the  idea  of  gaining  a 
bit  of  literary  style  for  this  story  of  mine.  But 
the  title  has  been  all  I  have  secured  so  far.  It 
sounded  literary,  so  I  took  it.  But  between  the 
spasmodical  emotional  school  that  suggests  hys- 
teria, and  the  psychological  theories  that  suggest 
opium,  toasted  to  the  right  consistency,  I  con- 
cluded that  my  bump  of  ideality  was  not  equal 
to  the  elements  required  for  the  enamel  of  modern 
fiction. 

Then  I  visited  a  couple  of  literary  acquaint- 
ances, and  heard  discourses  on  story-constructing 
from  the  puffed-sleeved,  straight-gowned  sort, 
who  wear  sad-looking,  slimsy  stuffs,  of  jaundice 
tints  and  bilious  shades.  One  of  them  talked  to 
me  three  hours,  on  a  hot  day,  of  her  dream -chil- 
dren that  gained  entrance  to  earth,  and  the  eyes  of 
men,  through  the  workings  of  the  thing  she  called 
her  soul;  and  the  other  one  never  spoke  of  her 

4  (49) 


60  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

stories,  it  was  always  "My  life,  my  thought,  the 
child  of  my  brain." 

After  an  interview  with  each,  I  concluded  this 
effort  at  fiction  would  have  to  be  one  without  trim- 
mings. 

There  are  two  people  in  this  story.  There  may 
have  been  more.  I  think  there  was.  But  in  the 
commencement  of  it  here,  I  can  only  think  of 
the  two  ;  and  when  she  was  seventeen,  and  he 
was  twenty-three,  they  only  thought  of  one  an- 
other. 

There  is  a  village  in  the  story — a  village  they 
were  both  born  in — its  name  was  Darlington — no 
matter  about  the  State.  But  it  is  one  of  the  good, 
old-fashioned  places  that  refuse  to  change  its  so- 
lidity of  opinion  for  the  flimsiness  of  modern 
advancement.  A  town  that  is  still  proud  of  its 
leading  citizens,  who  appealed  to  the  Legislature 
to  prevent  a  railroad  from  coming  within  several 
miles  of  it,  and  succeeded. 

There  was  a  young  ladies'  seminary  at  one  end 
of  its  longest  street,  and  a  medical  college  at  the 
other,  so  it  was  a  place  of  learning — of  intellect, 
into  which  a  railroad  would  have  brought  stran- 
gers and  other  disturbing  elements — so  thought 
the  residents,  among  them  the  parents  of  the 
young  man,  and  the  maiden  aunt  of  the  young 
lady — the  hero  and  heroine  of  this  romaunt. 

I  state  this  in  the  beginning,  that  it  may  be 
known  just  what  they  are.  I  object  to  mysteries; 
labels  pinned  to  characters  in  stories  might  not  be 
thought  ornamental,  but  I  think  they  would 


A  ROMAUNT.  61 

save  readers  a  deal  of  time  in  trying  to  solve  puz- 
zles, so  I  label  mine. 

I  believe  it  is  the  usual  thing  in  an  educational 
institution,  to  single  out  the  one  that  is  a  little 
dreamier  than  the  rest  of  the  dreamy  ones,  and  if 
she  can  make  rhymes  her  chums  are  proud  of  her 
and  call  her  the  school-poet. 

The  girl  of  my  story  was  the  poetess  of  Darling- 
ton seminary,  and  added  to  that  she  was  the 
prettiest  girl  in  town — so  she  was  termed  at  all 
events;  and  there  was  not  a  student  in  the  medical 
college  who  would  not  have  sworn  that  her  eyes 
held  more  poems  than  her  verses.  Not  but  what 
they  were  good  verses.  They  may  have  been.  I 
am  not  a  judge. 

A  good  many  of  the  best  of  them — so  she  said 
then — were  composed  after  walks  on  moonlight 
evenings  with  the  hero.  His  name  was — well, 
sometimes  she  called  him  Coeur  de  Leon,  when 
some  extra  nerve  of  his  in  the  dissecting  room — 
the  strength  to  look  on  severed  flesh  and  scraped 
bones — made  her  shudder  with  fear,  and  then  raise 
her  blue  eyes  to  his  auburn  mustache,  with  a  look 
of  admiring  adoration,  then  it  was  that  she  gave 
him  the  titles  of  ideal  warriors.  And  on  Sundays 
when  he  wore  his  best  clothes  and  read  decor- 
ously in  the  Bible-class  in  the  morning,  and  in 
the  afternoon  stood  up  facing  the  congregation, 
and  sang  with  the  choir — he  sang  bass — then  it 
was  she  attributed  to  him  those  elements  of 
angeldom,  and  called  him — in  her  thoughts  and 
the  verse  that  was  published  in  the  county  papers 


52  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

— Sir  Galahad;  his  own  name  was  Thomas  Q. 
Sefton. 

The  course  of  their  love  ran  very  smoothly. 
There  were  of  course  some  days  of  desperation 
and  some  nights  of  sleeplessness,  when  one  of  the 
other  fellows  became  more  attentive  than  he  had 
any  business  to  be.  But  those  two,  who  had  taken 
bites  from  the  same  stick  of  candy  in  their  pina- 
fore days,  would  not  long  allow  a  disturbing  ele- 
ment in  their  devotion.  In  fact,  the  advent  of 
the  other  fellow  hastened  a  formal  avowal  of 
something  that  had  before  been  but  a  stammering 
supposition  to  their  guileless  young  hearts. 
There  were  no  dissenting  parents  or  guardians  in 
the  case.  In  fact,  their  families  were  so  delighted 
with  the  engagement  that  one  would  have  sup- 
posed them  each  to  be  superfluous  characters — 
not  desirable  in  the  homes  of  their  relatives. 
Such,  however,  was  not  the  case,  they  were  nice 
young  people,  ambitious  and  virtuous. 

I  state  all  this  in  the  beginning,  that  you  may 
know  the  idyl  of  their  young  lives  was  a  flawless 
one;  the  sort  of  perfect  love  that  casts  out  fear — 
of  the  divorce  courts.  It  was  the  sort  of  affec- 
tion, if  any  there  be,  that  is  conducive  to  con- 
stancy and  the  unwavering  style  of  thing  that  ties 
hearts  together  and  jogs  them  along  to  a  double 
tombstone. 

I  have  a  reason  for  desiring  to  impress  this  fact 
of  flawlessness  on  the  reader.  If  this  is  ever  pub- 
lished the  reason  will  be  apparent.  There  are 
two  other  men  writing  each  a  story  while  I  am 


A  ROMATTNT.  53 

doing  this.  They  have  their  reasons,  too.  When 
they  are  all  done  an  editor  is  to  read  them,  and  if 
he  ever  discovers  any  reason  why  they  should  be 
published,  he  is  to  pay  us  a  salary  for  the 
romances.  Salary  may  not  be  the  correct  word 
to  a  literary  ear,  but  it  means  money,  any  way. 
I  do  not  know  what  the  other  two  are  writing 
about,  only  that  they  are  to  tell  love  stories. 

They  may  tell  a  more  stylish  story  than  mine; 
no  doubt  they  will.  They  may  even  be  able  to 
make  the  love  in  theirs  manifest  through  the 
action  or  speech  of  their  lovers,  while  I  have  to 
boldly  state  the  fact  of  mine  and  depend  on 
either  the  imagination  or  reminiscences  of  the 
reader  to  help  me  out.  All  of  you  have  some 
time  had  a  girl,  a  best  girl,  and  know  as  well  as  I 
do  the  sort  of  conversations,  and  dreams  of  bliss 
they  indulge  in.  I  suppose  every  pair  of  them 
say  about  the  same  thing,  with  variations. 

But  though  the  other  two  may  tell  a  more  lit- 
erary story  than  mine,  I  doubt  if  either  of  them 
can  get  for  a  foundation  a  more  closely  filtered, 
condensed  extract  of  Paradise  than  the  devotion, 
in  the  beginning,  of  these  two  nice  young  people 
of  Darlington. 

There  was  to  be  no  haste  about  their  union. 
Each  had,  after  a  searching  of  their  inmost  souls, 
decided  in  solemn  exchange  of  vows  that  their 
love  was  one  of  the  unchangeable  things  in  the 
universe.  They  had  endurance  to  wait  until  the 
short  years  would  bring  them  closer  to  their  ambi- 
tious hopes.  Each  had  a  yearning  to  take  into 


54  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

their  united  beds  and  boards  the  first  fruits  of 
their  young  brains,  bound  in  Russia  leather.  Ilt-r 
poems,  and  his  articles  on  Medicinal  Semeioti.es 
that  were  already  gaining  him  notice  among  the 
students.  And  they  would  gaze  pensively  into 
each  other's  eyes,  feeling  themselves  very  brave 
in  thus  setting  their  love  ahead  of  them  for  the 
sake  of  learning,  feeling  the  great  sacrifice  they 
were  making. 

"It  is  on  your  account,  Tommett,"  she  said, 
sweetly.  She  called  him  Tommett  as  a  pet  name, 
a  dear  term  known  only  to  them  two  selves — their 
only  secret.  "  It  is  for  your  loved  sake  that  it  is 
so.  You  must  mount  untrammeled  to  the  higher 
rungs  of  anatomical  studies,  satisfy  the  craving  of 
your  soul,  and  search  through  the  fleshly  veil  for 
the  evidence  of — of — whatever  you  are  looking  for, 
ere  I  will  consent  to  share  entirely  your  hours  or 
be  the  innocent  cause  of  neglect  to  those  delvings 
that  are  to  enrich  the  world  of  science.  Our  love 
is  unalterable;  we  can  wait." 

As  I  said  before,  I  am  not  a  judge  of  verse,  but 
suppose  those  who  are  will  understand  by  her 
language  that  she  was  a  poet.  As  for  Tommett, 
he  felt  just  as  she  did,  but  he  could  not  say  it  like 
that.  It  was  a  big  thing  to  know  that  the  pret- 
tiest girl  in  town  is  to  belong,  heart  and  soul,  to  a 
fellow,  supposing,  of  course,  that  it  is  the  right 
fellow.  Tommett  felt  that  it  was.  And  when  the 
prettiest  girl  is  also  called  a  genius,  what  sort  of 
love  would  it  be  that  did  not  seek  to  foster  the 
divine  flame?  So  he  thought,  and  so  he  told 


A   EOMATJNT.  55 

Minna  Evolina,  tenderly.  She  should  continue  her 
maiden  meditations  and  string  them  into  verse 
that  would  lead  his  prospective  bride  to  fame.  It 
was  a  great  sacrifice  to  give  her  up  to  anything, 
even  to  metre  and  rhyme.  But  it  was  for  her 
dear  sake;  that  thought  alone  made  him  resigned. 

The  suspended  union  made  them  both  feel  like 
modern  Spartans,  and  it  helped  them  both  in  a 
practical  way.  It  made  Tommett  feel  of  much 
more  importance,  gave  him  more  confidence  in 
himself.  The  adoration  of  a  genius  and  the  strength 
required  for  the  postponement  of  the  marriage 
ceremony  are  enough  to  make  any  young  fellow 
have  a  belief  in  himself. 

As  for  Minna  Evolina,  it  was  so  much  stock  in 
trade  to  her.  If  the  moonlight  walks  and  the 
choir  singing  were  inspirations  to  her,  so  also  were 
the  "throes  of  love  that  rocked  her  soul  in  the  cra- 
dle of  poesy."  I  take  that  sentence  from  one  of 
the  remembered  poems.  It  sounds  literary,  and 
as  I  have  no  style  of  my  own  to  embellish  this 
romance  with,  I  should  think  it  allowable  to  bor- 
row from  one  of  the  characters  in  it. 

The  nearest  thing  to  grief  that  came  between 
them  was  Minna  Evolina' s  fear  that  at  times  her 
chosen  did  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of  her  verse  as 
a  kindred  soul  should.  Now  the  young  man  felt 
the  thrill  of  a  kindred  soul  when  he  squeezed  her 
fingers  or  asked  if  he  could  kiss  her.  She  always 
said  yes,  and  he  always  did  it.  But  he  edged 
away  from  the  subject  of  poems  when  possible;  he 
acknowledged  that  he  was  too  practical  to  under- 


56  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

stand  them  always.  But  they  were  liers;  there- 
fore he  loved  them,  and  at  that  point  in  the  conver- 
sation he  generally  kissed  her  again — they  were 
very  devoted. 

"  My  dreamy  fancies  may  seem  too  ethereal  to 
you,"  she  said,  one  blissful  evening — "even  silly 
to  your  more  practical  and  profound  style  of 
thought.  But  believe  me,  Tommett,  whatever  the 
theme — whether  subtle  or  shallow — it  has  always 
you  and  our  love  for  a  key-note.  Ah,  that  I  could 
sing  you  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  as  you  are 
in  mine  own." 

She  said  "mine  own,"  and  "dostthou,"  and 
other  terms  that  are  poetic.  That  evening,  she 
said:  "And  dost  thou  love  me,  Tommett? "  And 
the  young  man  said,  "  I  dost,  dearest,"  and  then 
wondered  for  an  hour  after,  just  what  it  was  he 
replied,  and  if  it  was  or  was  not  grammatical, 
and  he  was  not  a  dull  fellow  either.  But  you 
get  a  pretty  girl,  on  a  summer  evening,  in  a  white 
dress,  and  have  her  ask  you  the  same  question 
in  the  same  way,  and  see  if  it  does  not  knock 
the  contents  of  school-books  out  of  your  head 
instanter.  It  takes  just  about  thirty  seconds 
of  that  sort  of  existence,  with  kisses  between 
breaths,  to  convince  any  student  that  book-bind- 
ings do  not  cover  a  monopoly  of  knowledge  after 
all. 

"And  what  would  you  do  to  prove  your  love 
for  me?"  she  continued,  sweetly,  looking  up 
at  him  with  pensively-rolling  eyes,  and  he 
deftly  circled  her  slim  waist  with  one  of  his 


A  KOMATJNT.  57 

arms,  and  without  hesitation  said,  with  sweeping 
certainty:  ' '  Anything — everything. ' ' 

And  he  meant  it,  too. 

He  was  laconic,  but  he  was  intense.  The  pro- 
fessor of  the  college  whom  he  admired  most  in 
those  days,  was  also  laconic.  At  first  it  may 
have  been  a  reflected  manner  that  gradually 
became  the  young  man's  own.  Minna  Evolina 
liked  it.  She  said  it  lent  majesty  to  his  charac- 
ter and  she  liked  majesty  in  a  man — it  made  her 
seem  very  weak  and  very  childish  beside  him,  as 
if  he  was  the  strong  oak  and  she  the  clinging  vine, 
and  she  wondered  if  he  would  ever  grow  tired  of 
her  woman-like  dependence  on  him  and  his  ideas, 
and  he  said  he  never  would — he  hoped  she  would 
always  cling,  and  then  he  kissed  her  again,  and 
tightened  his  arm  a  little  around  her  waist,  tight 
enough  to  notice  that  the  dress  she  wore  fitted  her 
much  too  snugly.  He  envied  that  dress  with  a 
lover's  greediness,  even  while  he,  as  her  future 
husband  and  sometime  medical  adviser,  told  her 
gently  and  firmly,  that  three  of  her  ribs  were 
compressed  to  a  degree  that  was  not  consistent 
with  continued  health,  and  that  her  dressmaker 
must  be  allowed  more  material,  and  that  she  must 
have  more  breathing  room. 

And  she  said  she  would  speak  to  Aunt  Hennie 
of  it  in  the  morning,  and  of  course  dear  Tommett's 
opinion  was  right,  she  thought  a  dutiful  wife's 
ideas  were  alwa}rs  a  reflex  of  her  husband's,  and 
she  wanted  him  to  see  how  entirely  she  meant  to 
mold  herself  to  his  wishes. 


58  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

They  were  very  happy  and  very  guileless — a 
modern  Adam  and  Eve  before  the  fruit  season. 

It  was  about  this  period  in  their  devotion  that 
Aunt  Hennie  became  afflicted,  or  endowed,  with 
an  internal  ailment,  a  disarrangement  of  digest- 
ive organs,  for  which  she  was  advised  to  try  the 
German  springs  of  Carlsbad.  Aunt  Hennie  was 
a  nice  old  lady,  Tommett  had  alwa}- s  liked  her, 
and  he  forgives  her  for  her  ailment  now.  But 
just  then  he  was  distraught  over  the  thought  that 
Minna  Evolina  was  to  bear  her  aunt  company, 
and  time  and  again  during  the  days  of  preparation 
did  he  swear,  in  the  privacy  of  his  mother' s  house, 
that  dear  Aunt  Hennie' s  greatest  ailment  was  a 
superabundance  of  appetite,  and  that  if  nature 
had  studied  her  needs  niore  closely  she  would 
have  been  gifted  with  the  digestive  apparatus 
of  an  ostrich  or  a  goat. 

But  the  day  of  parting  grew  closer,  and  the 
vows  of  faithfulness  more  intense  and  more  sure 
of  being  kept. 

They  each  had  new  daguerreotypes  taken,  and 
he  put  a  lock  of  his  hair  in  the  case  of  his  and 
gave  it  to  her ;  and  she  cut  one  of  the  beau- 
catchers  from  above  her  ear  and  put  in  the  case  of 
hers  for  him.  She  also,  as  an  emblem  of  constancy 
in  absence,  gave  him  a  bunch  of  immortelles  tied 
with  a  green  and  pink  ribbon. 

And  then  the  day  came  when  he  squeezed  her 
fingers  for  the  last  time,  and  kissed  her  while  she 
wept  becomingly.  And  he  kissed  Aunt  Hennie, 
also,  and  set  her  lunch-basket  in  easy  reach  of  her 


A   EOMAUISTT.  59 

fat  arms,  and  said  to  her  in  an  aside  of  intense 
feeling:  "  Take  good  care  of  my  darling  for  me." 
And  Aunt  Hennie,  who  did  not  hear  very  well, 
gave  him  a  second  kiss,  and  told  him  not  to  worry, 
for  she  would  take  as  good  care  of  herself  as  she 
could.  And  he  heard  her  say  to  Minna  Evolina 
that  she  never  imagined  Thomas  had  so  deep  an 
affection  for  his  Aunt  Hennie  as  he  had  shown  at 
parting. 

And  then  the  carry-all  drove  out  of  sight,  start- 
ing its  occupants  on  the  road  to  the  nearest  sea- 
port. And  Tommett  went  sadly  back  to  his  room, 
and  looked  at  her  picture,  and  kissed  the  immor- 
telles, and  tried  to  remember  some  of  her  verses, 
and  couldn't,  and  then  finished  the  evening  in  a 
lonely  but  instructive  way — mounting  on  wires 
the  bones  and  sinews  of  a  hand  that  had  a  few 
weeks  before  been  interred  from  the  county  poor- 
house. 

And  thus  between  the  soothing  proof  of  her 
love  that  was  exerted  over  him  when  he  looked  at 
the  yellow  white  of  the  blossoms,  and  the  elation 
of  doing  a  delicate  piece  of  structure  in  arranging 
the  glistening  blue -white  of  the  sinews  —  thus 
between  two  tones  of  feeling  as  one  may  say,  each 
masterful  in  its  own  way — he  began  his  life  alone. 

Those  two  added  considerably  to  the  revenues 
of  two  governments  in  the  next  few  months,  their 
correspondence  being  warm  and  weighty.  Tom- 
mett was  working  with  a  vim  born  of  sacrificing 
love  and  scholarly  ambition.  She  might  not 
return  for  a  year,  but  in  that  year  he  determined 


60  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

that  his  native  town  and  its  prettiest  girl  should 
be  proud  of  his  achievements.  Before  six  of  the 
months  had  passed  he  was  promoted  to  the  post 
of  assistant  instructor  in  craniometry — it  did  not 
pay  him  anything,  but  it  was  a  tribute  paid  by 
the  faculty  to  his  superior  knowledge — there  was 
the  honor.  He  had  also  prepared  some  papers  on 
"A  National  PJiysiognomy,"  for  which  he  had 
Lavater  as  evidence  for  his  theories.  Those  papers 
gained  him  special  notice,  several  times  he  was 
greeted  as  "Professor"  by  the  other  students, 
and  while  a  few  of  them — fellows  from  other 
States — had  laughed  when  they  said  it,  yet  that 
taste  of  supremacy  fixed  his  decision  that  he 
would  have  that  title  by  right  as  well  as  courtesy. 
He  examined  his  own  cranium  closely — it  was  a 
round  head  —  a  compact  head.  He  thought  he 
could  see  a  resemblance  to  the  first  Napoleon  in 
its  general  traits,  that  gave  him  confidence  of  his 
own  powers  of  perseverance — and  perseverance 
and  the  genius  of  hard  study  are  the  necessities 
of  success.  So  he  plunged  deeper  than  ever  into 
the  studies.  He  would  be  a  specialist — it  was  the 
specialists  who  were  the  men  of  mark  in  those 
days — he  would  be  a  marked  man.  And  his  special 
study — his  hobby  as  one  may  say,  should  be  his 
old  love — phrenology. 

All  this  he  told  Minna  Evolinaby  mail,  and  sent 
her  copies  of  his  articles  on  PJiysiognomy  vs. 
Pathognomy,  also  a  trifle  on  Average  accumula- 
tion of  gall  of  the  different  races. 

And  she  congratulated  him  in  poetical    Ian- 


A  EOMAUNT.  61 

guage  and  sent  Mm  copies  of  her  late  verses  and 
a  synopsis  of  the  others  she  intended  writing. 
And  Aunt  Hennie  gave  him  by  letter  a  diagnosis 
of  the  benefit  Carlsbad  waters  had  been  to  her. 
She  liked  Europe,  it  agreed  with  her;  she 
expected  to  remain  there  some  time.  She  was 
going  south  for  the  winter  into  Italy,  where  she 
had  distant  relatives  living,  whom  she  never  had 
seen.  Minna  Evolina  was  becoming  saturated,  as 
it  were,  with  the  scholarly  and  literary  elements 
in  which  she  found  herself  in  Germany.  Her 
foreign  friends  prophesied  great  things  of  her 
when  her  provincialisms  would  disappear,  and 
nothing  was  so  conducive  to  that  end,  said 
Aunt  Hennie,  as  travel  and  life  in  strange  coun- 
tries. As  for  the  marriage,  they  were  both  very 
young,  they  could  afford  to  wait. 

Minna  Evolina  said  about  the  same  thing,  but 
it  was  in  a  poetical,  pleading  letter,  asking  sweetly 
for  permission  from  her  intended  to  prolong  her 
stay.  And  he  read  it  with  the  feeling  of  a  man 
who  owns  property,  and  graciously  granted  her 
request. 

So  the  first  year  went  by,  and  about  that  time 
Minna  Evolina  dropped  a  little  loose  from  verses 
and  took  to  prose  writing.  The  poetry  satisfied 
her  soul  needs  best,  but  the  prose  was  the  only 
thing  editors  would  pay  her  for,  and  as  editors' 
checks  mean  fame  she  dropped  the  poems,  except 
a  few  straggling  ones  to  Tommett. 

But  the  straggles  grew  less  as  she  gradually  was 
changed  from  a  pensive  maiden  penning  verses  into 


62  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

a  would-be  professional  woman  who  liked  to  see 
1 '  journalist ' '  added  to  her  name.  And  as  the  prose 
work  was  not  so  easy  to  submit  to  his  judgment 
he  saw  no  more  of  her  work  in  manuscripts.  The 
editor  of  the  most  eager  magazine  grew  to  be  the 
person  for  whom  her  heart  throbbed — on  paper. 

At  first  he  did  not  like  the  change,  but  the 
more  he  thought  of  it  in  a  sensible,  practical 
light,  the  more  he  understood  it  was  a  natural 
transition.  She  could  not  always  remain  the 
childish  creature  she  had  been,  and  also  accom- 
pany a  man  through  earnest  life  and  win  fame 
for  herself  on  the  way.  And  he  finally  convinced 
himself  that  he  should  be  glad  that  this  change 
was  fitting  her  more  fully  for  the  honorary  posi- 
tion she  would  some  day  hold  as  the  wife  and 
helpmeet  of  a  man  of  mark — an  authority  on  the 
scientific  and  fascinating  study  of  craniology. 
Such  was  his  ambition,  and  to  that  end  the  home 
of  his  parents  was  made  a  museum  of  brain  cov- 
erings, a  collection  of  skulls  that  was  the  finest 
owned  by  any  private  individual  in  the  State. 
Many  of  his  profession  visited  him  and  went 
away  impressed  by  the  wonderful  application  of 
so  young  a  man,  and  cited  his  industry  and 
enthusiasm  to  others.  Thus  he  became  talked 
about;  to  be  talked  about  is  fame.  He  was 
famous  in  his  own  region,  and  he  had  patience 
and  youth  enough  to  afford  to  wait  for  the  fame 
of  the  world. 

As  his  professional  duties  and  studies  widened, 
so  did  his  correspondence,  and,  to  Minna  Evolina, 


A  EOMAUNT.  63 

he  was  by  necessity  forced  to  send  shorter  epistles 
than  at  first.  But  he  explained  it  fully  to  her, 
and  she  understood  it  fully;  thus  there  was  per- 
fect understanding  between  them,  never  a  discord 
or  a  doubt.  At  the  end  of  the  second  year,  Aunt 
Hennie  really  died,  to  Tommett'  s  surprise.  Her 
niece  was,  of  course,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  and 
wrote  that  for  the  present  she  would  remain 
abroad  with  dear  Aunt  Hennie' s  relatives.  She 
did  not  ask  permission  this  time,  she  probably 
forgot  it  in  her  grief,  so  he  thought,  as  he  read 
her  letter,  and  laid  it  aside  to  put  new  wires  in 
the  latest  addition  to  his  collection — the  cranium 
of  a  deceased  Zuni,  whose  breadth  of  jaw-bone 
helped  prove  a  theory  he  had  been  interested  in 
for  some  time. 

Did  I  speak  before  of  the  appearance  of  Tom- 
mett? I  believe  not.  He  never  made  any  pre- 
tense of  being  a  handsome  man,  but  he  did  flatter 
himself  on  having  an  impressive  personality.  He 
had  heard  it  said  that  once  seen,  his  face  was  not 
one  to  be  easily  forgotten — in  fact,  never  to  be 
forgotten.  Another  instance  of  resemblance  to 
the  first  Napoleon.  He  wTas  one  of  the  men  who 
grow  bald  very  early.  At  first,  when  he  had  to 
brush  his  thin,  auburn  locks  over  his  forehead,  he 
was  filled  with  a  natural  human  regret,  at  the 
thought  that  Minna  Evolina  might  not  admire 
him  as  of  yore.  But  a  look  at  the  daguerreotype 
and  the  immortelles  reassured  him.  They  were 
enthroned  in  a  place  of  honor — on  the  largest, 
broadest  skull  in  his  collection — that  of  a  Hano- 


64  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

verian  Dutchman.  And  looking  at  these  memen- 
tos of  her  that  brought  back  to  him  her  vows  of 
devotion — if  need  be,  of  sacrifice,  he  knew  that  a 
few  hairs  more  or  less  would  make  no  difference 
in  her  heart,  and  in  his  profession  it  gave  him 
an  added  weight.  I  do  not  know  why  it  is  that  a 
bald  man,  or  a  married  man,  can  gain  more  confi- 
dence in  professional  work  than  their  opposites — 
but  such  is  a  fact,  perhaps  from  the  idea  that  they 
have  each  seen  trouble,  and  so  know  how  to  give 
sympathy  to  others.  And  when  Tommett  was 
given  by  scholarship,  instead  of  courtesy,  the  title 
of  professor,  his  cranium  had  made  itself  visible 
through  his  hair  to  a  considerable  extent,  it 
seemed  to  fit  him  for  those  extra  degrees.  And 
he  was  happy,  the  only  flaw  being  the  absence  of 
his  loved  one,  whom  he  was  sorry  had  to  wait  the 
time  of  a  tedious  mail  ere  she  heard  of  the  honors 
that  would  one  day  be  shared  by  her. 

And  so  in  everything  did  their  thoughts  go 
across  the  ocean  where  the  other  one  was. 

She  had  been  gone  over  three  years  when 
Thomas  Q.  Sefton,  Professor  of  Anatomy  in  Dar- 
lington College,  was  offered  a  permanent  position 
by  the  faculty,  who  decided  he  was  too  valuable 
to  lose.  He  was  twenty-seven  at  that  time,  but 
looked  ten  years  older,  perhaps  because  of  the 
baldness,  perhaps  because  of  the  studious  delvings 
among  his  specimens.  Nothing,  however,  in 
his  appearance  could  alter  the  fact  that  the 
position  was  one  to  be  proud  of.  It  was  a 
permanency.  He  was,  in  a  way,  settled  for 


A  EOMAUNT.  65 

life,  and  had  now  some  time  to  think  of  getting 
married. 

And  to  Minna  Evolina  he  intimated  as  much. 
But  he  did  not  call  her  Minna  Evolina  any  longer, 
she  objected.  Her  Italian  friends  had  said  it  was 
provincial,  and  much  too  long.  Evoli,  she  thought, 
was  better.  It  had  been  considered  so  for  her  lit- 
erary work,  and  she  wrote  her  name  M.  Evoli 
Brattlesex. 

She  was  as  willing  as  he  that  at  last  their  mar- 
riage should  be  consummated — so  she  said,  and 
she  said  also  that  so  far  in  her  life,  her  loved  work 
and  her  dear  Thomas  had  been  the  only  rivals  in 
her  heart. 

He  noticed  that  she  did  not  call  him  Tommett 
any  more,  but  told  himself,  like  a  philosopher, 
that  they  must  both  expect  changes.  Their  affec- 
tion would  be  the  same,  of  course;  but  they  were 
four  years  older  than  at  their  separation,  and 
would,  of  course,  express  themselves  differently. 
She  wrote  him  she  was  going  on  a  short  tour  into 
Sicily  with  some  friends.  After  that  she  was  to 
sail  for  America,  and  two  of  her  Italian  cousins 
were  to  come  with  her.  One  of  them  was  also  a 
writer.  She  called  him  Cousin  Eduard.  They 
were  to  make  the  intended  tour  with  the  idea  of 
finding  types  for  future  fiction. 

In  fact,  her  later  letters  were  full  of  types  where 
they  used  to  be  full  of  poems.  She  never  seemed 
to  meet  people  any  more.  They  were  all  "stud- 
ies" or  "types"  or  "characters." 

Of  course,  he  knew  those  were  merely  profes- 


66  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

sional  terms,  acquired  through,  her  acquaintance 
with  journalism.  They  did  not  quite  appear  to 
suit  the  clinging  vine  he  had  kissed  when  he 
wanted  to;  but  for  all  that,  he  knew  that,  aside 
from  her  work,  his  M.  Evoli  would  be  the  same. 

He  put  on  his  newest  suit  when  going  to  call  on 
her  immediately  on  her  arrival;  and  then  he  took 
it  off  again  and  sat  looking  at  it  in  doubt. 

He  was  hard  to  fit  in  pantaloons.  His  frame 
was  all  right,  but  it  was  lacking  in  the  covering 
of  fleshy  tissue,  that  gives  voluptuous  curves  to 
forms.  The  pantaloons  of  that  suit  looked  better 
than  such  garments  usually  did,  yet  he  hesitated. 
Should  he  indulge  his  vanity  and  wear  them  and 
the  coat  to  match,  or  should  he  wear  the  older 
suit,  that  had  grown  used  to  him?  Would  she 
not  rather  see  him,  the  playmate  of  her  youth,  in 
the  less  pretentious  garb  that  bespoke  ease  to 
himself,  perhaps  to  her?  He  knew  that  ere  they 
met,  she  would  have  learned  from  her  Aunt  Lucy 
the  enviable  position  he  now  held;  that  where  she 
had  left  him  an  unknown  student,  she  would  find 
him  a  personage  spoken  of  with  pride  by  his  towns- 
people. He  knew  her  timid,  clinging  nature. 
He  remembered  her  nervousness  and  her  impres- 
sionability, that  was  equaled  only  by  a  phono- 
graph. He  knew  that,  in  view  of  the  many  changes 
that  had  passed — dear  Aunt  Hennie — the  meeting 
must  be  trying  to  her — and  he  felt  himself  com- 
forting her  already,  but  not  feeling  quite  so  sure  of 
what  he  would  say  to  her  as  he  used  to  be;  only  she 
must  not  be  made  more  nervous  by  any  show  of  the 


A  ROMAUNT.  67 

greatness  that  had  come  to  him.  No!  she  must 
be  made  to  forget  the  professor  for  a  little  while, 
and  remember  only  the  student. 

And  he  looked  at  the  lengthwise  crease  down 
the  knees  of  the  new  broadcloths  and  sighed,  and 
picked  up  the  old  ones,  on  which  the  creases  ran 
crosswise,  and  pulled  them  on. 

Do  not  think  that  a  trifling  sacrifice;  it  was  not. 

All  the  way  along  the  placid  street  of  Darling- 
ton he  pictured  to  himself  their  meeting.  He 
expected  a  few  tears.  He  remembered  that  his 
mother  and  his  sister  always  wept  when  going 
away  on  a  journey  or  coming  home  from  one. 
His  masculine  mind  had  not,  as  yet,  quite  grasped 
the  reason;  but  he  supposed  they  all  did  it. 

He  hoped  her  other  aunt  would  have  considera- 
tion enough  to  let  their  meeting  be  a  private  one, 
and  keep  herself  out  of  the  way.  Aunt  Hennie 
had  never  been  out  of  the  way.  And  then  he 
remembered  that  dear  Aunt  Hennie  was  no  doubt 
stopping  with  relatives  now  who  would  gladly 
give  up  all  the  room  they  had  to  her,  he  must  not 
harbor  bitter  memories,  or  be  more  ungenerous 
than  they,  he  would  think  only  of  the  fond 
creature  waiting  impatiently  his  coming. 

And  with  that  happy,  idiotic  delusion,  he 
sounded  the  knocker. 

Jim,  their  colored  man-of-all-work,  opened  the 
door. 

"Yes,  sah,  they's  done  come  home,"  he 
answered,  with  smiling  pomposity,  and  was  about 
to  precede  our  hero  to  the  parlor,  when  he  said: 


68  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

"I  know  the  way.  I  will  announce  myself." 
The  door  was  slightly  ajar,  someone  was  touch- 
ing the  keys  of  the  piano  disjointedly,  and  he 
could  hear  someone  else  laughing. 

"Ah,  yes,  ma  belle  cousin,"  he  heard  a  man 
say,  "it  is  as  you  say  to  us — all  very  quaint — 
very  old  fashion — your  birthplace.  But  it  is  not 
the  oldness  that  inspires.  The  age  of  your 
America  is  like  the  age  of  old  garments — it  is 
flimsy;  but  the  age  of  Italy  is  the  age  of  old 
marble — it  is  enduring." 

"You  are  incorrigible,  Cousin  Eduard,"  said 
the  soft,  sugary  voice  he  remembered,  "you 
see  nothing  beautiful  here  because  everything  is 
not  in  ruins." 

"  I  venture  to  contradict  a  lady,  since  I  see  you 
here,"  he  said,  and  then  another  woman  laughed 
and  said: 

"I  knew  you  would  say  that,  Eduard,  you 
never  could  resist  temptation.  How  you  are  to 
exist  here  without  peasant  girls  to  flirt  with,  is,  to 
me,  a  puzzle,  you  and  Evoli  will,  in  desperation, 
develop  into  the  most  extreme  of  type-hunters." 
"I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  I  am  to  have  the 
monopoly  of  our  cousin  now,"  said  the  man  in  a 
dreamy,  distressed  tone,  "there  is  a  fiance  here 
you  must  know,  together  they  will  go  hunting 
for  types,  and  alone  will  Eduard  be  forgot." 
"What  is  he  like?"  asked  the  woman's  voice 
again.  "You  are  so  sly,  you  have  not  even 
shown  me  his  picture.  Have  you  one?  Is  he 
handsome?  I  know  his  profession,  he  is  very 


A  ROMAtJNT.  69 

learned,  is  lie  not?  so  your  dear  aunt  told  me. 
Shall  we  see  him  soon?  will  he  help  you  to  hunt 
for  types,  or  will  he  furnish  you  one  himself,  tell 
us  all  about  him." 

Our  hero  did  not  intend  listening  at  first.  He 
only  wanted  to  know  if  she  who  held  him  nearest 
and  dearest  was  inside  the  parlor  door.  But  the 
man's  voice  had  checked  his  entrance  for  a 
moment,  he  hesitated,  and  was  lost.  He  was 
not  a  society  man,  he  had  no  time  for  its 
trifles.  His  daring  was  undoubted  when  its 
application  was  needed  for  Ms  professional  work, 
but  he  shrank  from  meeting  strangers  with  the 
timidity  of  a  recluse.  Hearing  the  conversation 
made  him  wish  he  had  kept  on  the  other  panta- 
loons, and  then  he  wished  he  had  let  Jim  announce 
him,  he  knew  Jim  would  have  given  him  his  full 
title,  and  that  might  help  overbalance  the  cross- 
wise creases  of  the  old  ones,  and  then  he  slid 
away  a  little  from  the  parlor  door,  and  wondered 
if  he  could  get  out  the  back  way  without  being 
seen  or  commented  on.  He  could  return  later 
with  new  clothes  and  more  confidence. 

In  the  dread  of  meeting  foreign  strangers,  under 
existing  circumstances,  he  could  not  remember  as 
he  got  out  the  back  door  just  what  the  errand 
was  that  had  taken  him  there,  he  tried  to  think 
of  it  as  he  grabbed  his  hat  and  umbrella — and 
couldn't. 

On  the  back  porch  he  met  Jim  with  an  armful 
of  wood  and  a  broom,  Jim  nearly  dropped  them 
both  in  his  surprise.  "Why  —  why,  Marse  Po- 


70  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

fessah,  yo'  not  done  gone  a' ready  'thout  seem' 
Miss  Minna  Ev'lina  an'  the  quality  folks!'' 
"  Miss  Minna  Ev'lina"  brought  back  to  our  hero, 
remembrance  of  what  he  had  come  for. 

"  Ah,  certainly  not,  Jim,"  lie  said,  in  a  shaky, 
trying- to-get-out-of -it  sort  of  a  way.  "But  I 
thought  that  as — well,  understanding,  as  I  may 
say,  that  you — that  I — in  fact,  that  your  young 
mistress  had  company,  I  thought  that  perhaps— 
perhaps  you  had  better  announce  me." 

He  had  not  intended  to  say  that  at  all,  when  he 
began,  and  Jim  looked  at  him  as  if  he  thought 
the  study  of  other  men's  brains  had  softened  his 
own,  for  he  kept  his  eye  on  him  as  he  carefully 
laid  down  the  wood  and  the  broom,  and  gingerly 
edged  past  him  into  the  hall. 

"  Marse  Dootah  Pofessah  Sefton!"  he  announced, 
with  as  much  pomposity  of  manner  as  he  was 
wont  to  use  when  master  of  ceremonies.  Perhaps 
the  tenacity  with  which  the  Professor  clung  to 
his  hat,  when  Jim  tried  to  get  it  out  of  his  lingers, 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  Everything  seemed 
awful  quiet  as  he  went  in  the  door,  and  Jim  si- 
dled out.  He  had  heard  laughing  a  second  before. 

Then  some  one  came  toward  him  from  the 
piano,  she  looked  taller  than  Minna  Evolina  had 
looked,  but  she  said: 

"My  dear  Professor,  how  charming  to  meet 
you  once  more!" 

Her  voice  and  her  eyes  were  the  same,  other- 
wise it  was  not  his  Minna  Evolina— it  was  Evoli. 
He  had  not  imagined  the  shortening  of  a  name 


A   ROMAUNT.  71 

would  have  made  such  a  difference.  She  intro- 
duced her  cousins  to  Professor  Sefton,  they  were 
both  charmed,  so  they  said.  The  Professor  said: 
"  How  do  you  do?"  and  that's  about  all  he  did 
say  to  them.  Cousin  Eduard  had  long  mus- 
taches, and  a  Byronic  collar.  Cousin  Agnace,  his 
sister,  was  about  forty — a  slim,  long-drawn-out 
forty,  with  the  kittenish  brightness  of  sixteen. 
She  skipped  from  one  window  to  another,  and 
rustled  her  starchy  skirts,  and  wondered  "if 
they  would  really  allow  her  to  pluck  some  of  the 
pears  from  the  trees  her  own  self,  instead  of  hav- 
ing a  servant  do  it.  Yes?  how  charming;  and 
would  dear  Eduard  go  with  her  to  the  trees?  Ah! 
he  was  such  an  angel  of  a  brother;  and  would 
the  learned  Professor  pardon  them  each,  that 
they  retired  into  the  garden  for  one  little  while? 
Yes?  and  her  Evoli  must  not  miss  her — not  long 
would  she  remain  away." 

And  the  learned  Professor  excused  her,  with 
inaudible  thanks,  and  the  angel  of  a  brother  put 
a  shawl  around  the  giddy  young  creature's 
shoulders,  and  looked  languishingly  at  Evoli,  and 
bowed  profoundly  to  the  learned  Professor,  and 
then  they  took  themselves  off  with  more  ceremony 
than  people  were  used  to  in  Darlington  houses. 
And  Minna  Evolina  and  Tommett  had  the  room 
to  themselves. 

So  far  there  had  been  no  tears,  no  nervousness, 
and  he  felt  as  if  all  that  idea  of  her  being  impres- 
sed too  deeply  by  the  change  that  had  been,  was  a 
mistaken  calculation,  and  noticing  the  stylish 


72  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

dressing  of  herself  and  cousins,  he  wished  she 
knew  about  the  other  suit  he  could  have  worn  if 
he  wanted  to. 

But  he  did  not  tell  her.  He  looked  at  her  as 
lovingly  as  he  could,  while  he  wished  she  would 
wear  her  hair  lower  on  her  neck,  and  show  the 
shape  of  her  head  more.  It  was  very  finely 
formed,  idealistic  organs  well  developed,  form 
and  color  much  above  the  average,  the  entire 
formation  of  the  cranium  denoting  advanced  in- 
tellectual possibilities,  a  good  study;  he  was  so 
much  interested  in  its  manifestations  that  he  for- 
got to  say  anything  after  the  other  two  went  out; 
until,  after  a  while,  he  realized  there  had  been  a 
long  silence,  and  that  his  Evoli  was  looking  a  little 
uneasy  at  the  directness  of  his  gaze  that  was  at- 
tracted to  her  height  of  forehead.  Then  he  tried 
to  say  something  in  a  careless,  nonchalant  man- 
ner, but  could  not  think  of  anything.  He  jingled 
nervously  some  odd  joints  of  finger-bones,  that 
had  been  forgotten  in  his  coat  pocket,  and  at  last 
he  said:  "My  dear  Minna  Evolina,"  and  she 
said :  * '  My  dear  Professor. '  * 

And  then  he  let  go  of  the  finger-bones  in  his 
pocket  and  reached  for  her  hand,  and  got  it,  and 
said  tenderly: 

"  How  much  you  have  grown." 

And  then  they  had  a  nice,  long  visit  with  each 
other,  as  the  old  ladies  say,  and  he  told  her  of  the 
marriages  and  deaths,  and  his  own  acquired  hon- 
ors; and  she  told  him  of  the  new  types  she  had 
been  making  a  study  of  lately,  and  that  she 


A  EOMATJNT.  73 

expected  to  find  some  good  material  through  her 
return  to  America;  the  impressions  of  American 
characteristics  would  be  so  much  clearer  to  her 
now  when  they  formed  such  a  contrast  to  the  for- 
eign element  she  had  been  surrounded  by  for  so 
long.  And  he  told  her  of  his  collection  of  skulls, 
and  at  that  point  in  the  conversation  the  cousin 
with  the  mustaches  and  the  cousin  with  the  petti- 
coats came  in  again,  and  the  timid  creature 
declared  her  terror  of  the  skulls,  yet,  "If  her 
dear  Eduard,  her  dearest  Evoli,  and  the  learned 
Professor  were  of  the  party,  she  would  go  to  see 
them.  Yes,  she  would  be  charmed,  such  a  curi- 
osity of  a  study!  Yes,  she  would  be  disconsolate 
to  leave  America  without  having  seen  this  most 
grand  collection." 

And  it  was  arranged  that  they  were  all  to  visit 
the  Professor's  collection  very  soon.  Cousin 
Eduard  expressed  himself  as  profoundly  inter- 
ested. "What  possibilities  in  such  a  study! 
what  characters  could  be  evolved  from  it,  what 
types  might  not  one  find  through  such  a  collec- 
tion!" 

And  then  Cousin  Eduard  looked  at  Cousin 
Evoli,  and  then  at  the  Professor,  and  she  looked 
at  the  Professor,  too,  and  held  out  her  hand  when 
he  left  and  told  him  to  come  often  to  see  her — to 
come  whenever  he  felt  like  it,  and  he  said  he 
would,  and  wished  his  hair  wasn't  quite  so 
thin  when  he  saw  Cousin  Eduard  toss  back  the 
flowing  locks  from  his  poetic  brow.  And  then  he 
went  home  and  dusted  the  skulls  and  wondered 


74  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

how  it  would  seem  to  have  a  wife  to  help  him  in 
his  work  of  love,  and  that  is  the  account  of  the 
day  when  Tommett  met  for  the  first  time  his 
Evoli. 

She  did  not  call  him  Tommett  at  all,  not  even 
when  they  were  alone,  which  did  not  happen 
often.  She  did  let  him  kiss  her,  but  something 
kept  him  from  having  the  same  confidence  in  the 
venture  that  had  of  old  been  an  every-day  affair. 
She  asked  him  not  to  call  her  Minna  Evolina, 
especially  before  folks,  she  preferred  him  using 
the  one  that  had  been  her  trade  mark  in  litera- 
ture. 

He  asked  her  when  she  was  going  to  change  her 
trade  mark  for  his,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  a 
sigh,  a  happy  sigh  of  course,  and  said,  pensively: 

"  You  still  remember  so  fondly  the  loves  of  our 
childhood?" 

He  said  he  did,  and  he  said  it  decidedly.  "The 
loves  of  our  childhood"  was  the  term  she  had 
applied  several  times  to  that  sweet  fever  of  fond- 
ness that  only  time  cures,  and  the  repetition  of 
it  was  aggravating  to  him.  He  could  not  always 
think  of  it  himself  in  the  present  tense,  not  with 
the  same  degree  of  absorption  that  it  had  been. 
But  it  was  not  comforting  to  know  that  the 
natural  course  of  events  made  her  look  at  it 
in  the  same  light,  first  for  types,  afterward  for 
Tommett. 

And  when  he  said  the  love  of  his  childhood 
still  bound  him,  and  asked  again  as  to  the  wed- 
ding day,  she  answered  sweetly  and  passively: 


A   EOMAUNT.  75 

"Whenever  you  say,  dear."  And  he  said  next 
week. 

That  was  the  time  when  she  told  him  he  had  no 
consideration — that  he  was  proposing  an  impossi- 
bility. And  then  Cousin  Eduard  lounged  in  and 
told  Cousin  Evoli  he  was  ready  to  drive  her  for 
the  ferns  she  wanted,  and  would  Professor  Sefton 
honor  them  by  his  accompaniment? 

Professor  would  not;  he  was  not  a  wrathy  man, 
but  that  confounded  Eduard  with  his  long,  sleepy 
eyes  was  a  cause  of  irritation  to  him  that  day. 
Leutz  holds  that  the  Jews  have  more  gall  than 
other  men,  and  through  it  there  is  preserved  that 
individuality  of  feature  that  makes  them  a  marked 
race.  Leutz  was  one  of  the  standards  for  whom 
the  Professor  had  an  admiration — seldom  contest- 
ing his  theories,  but  going  home  that  day  he 
debated  whether  Leutz  would  not  have  made  an 
exception  in  favor  of  Cousin  Eduard  had  he  been 
so  unfortunate  as  to  have  known  him.  From 
localizing  symptoms  that  made1'  themselves  mani- 
fest from  day  to  day,  he  decided  that  that  ideal- 
istic lounger  had  an  amount  of  gall  equal  to 
preserving  intact  more  unadulterated  individual 
impudence  than  he  could  think  possible  in  one 
specimen  of  the  genus  homo. 

Evoli's  willingness  that  the  marriage  should  be 
before  a  great  while,  took  a  doubt  from  his  mind 
that  had  perplexed  him  sometimes.  She  had  not 
appeared  to  enjoy  his  collection  as  he  had  hoped 
Minna  Evolina  would  have  done — that  of  course 
was  a  cause  for  regret.  She  remarked  one  day 


76  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

that  of  course  he  would  have  a  room  at  the  col- 
lege for  them  when  married — it  would  seem  so 
like  a  charnel  house  to  have  them  in  one's  private 
abode.  That  set  him  to  thinking  seriously.  It 
made  him  remember  the  words  of  Lavater,  who 
said:  "If  thou  hast  an  almost  spherical  head 
contract  no  alliance  with  a  long,  high  forehead." 
Evoli  had  a  high  forehead — a  long  head.  He  had 
an  almost  spherical  head.  It  never  had  occurred 
to  him  before  to  compare  them.  But  it  recurred 
to  him  several  times  in  the  next  few  weeks. 

And  when  she  spoke  in  that  way  of  his  collec- 
tion he  felt  like  asking  if  she  intended  to  have  a 
separate  house  for  her  types  and  her  dictionaries. 
But  he  didn't;  he  reflected  that  such  a  remark 
might  jar  on  the  sweetness  of  their  affection — that 
had  been. 

He  was  much  more  careful  of  his  appearance 
than  of  old— the  business  suit  that  had  been  his 
was  put  away,  and  he  looked  as  smart  in  broad- 
cloth and  silk  hat  as  that  limber-looking  Italian 
did  in  his  long  hair  and  wide  collar — though,  per- 
haps, not  so  picturesque.  He  did  not  care  for 
that,  he  preferred  to  look  majestic  and  dignified — 
which  he  did.  One  would  have  known  he  was  an 
M.  D.  or  an  LL.  D.  to  look  at  him.  He  looked 
like  a  man  of  importance — so  his  mother  told 
him. 

Evoli  did  not  speak  of  his  appearance  as  Minna 
Evolina  had  done.  She  never  compared  him  to  the 
oak  any  more.  Perhaps  she  forgot  it.  And  he 
wondered  sometimes  how  he  ever  had  got  the  idea 


A   EOMAUNT.  77 

that  she  was  a  vine  and  made  to  cling.  She  had 
evidently  dropped  the  habit  of  clinging  while 
in  Europe,  for  he  saw  no  manifestations  of  it. 

The  marriage  was  settled  on  for  six  months 
ahead.  Her  Italian  cousins  were  disconsolate  at 
having  to  leave  before  the  event — the  Professor 
was  not.  He  was  in  hopes  that  when  they  were 
gone,  he  might  hear  a  few  conversations  that  were 
not  confined  to  "  types." 

He  was  hurrying  to  complete  a  work  on  his 
beloved  study  before  the  momentous  occasion, 
and  wished  often  that  Evoli  had  a  more  heart-felt 
interest  in  it,  for  reasons. 

The  series  of  learned  articles  he  was  preparing, 
were  to  be  illustrated,  each  illustration  was  to  be 
of  a  distinctly  different  character  of  a  head.  He 
had  already  some  very  fine  ones  made,  one  of  a 
Calmuc  Tartar,  that  suggested  a  very  short  mis- 
sing link;  another,  of  an  East  Indian,  whose 
pointed  skull  was  a  thing  of  pride  to  a  craniolo- 
gist;  a  magnificent  specimen  of  a  negro,  who 
looked  like  a  black  Ajax  with  his  head  shaved; 
and  a  once  noted  politician,  who  was  so  bald  he 
did  not  need  to  be  shaved,  had  kindly  let  the  Pro- 
fessor use  his  head  as  an  illustration  of  theories 
advanced.  His  head  had  a  decided  likeness  to 
Socrates.  There  were  many  others,  people  of  all 
races,  all  colors.  But  the  ideal  head  of  the  lot 
was  one  he  had  spent  considerable  thought  over. 
It  was  not  easy  to  get. 

Evoli  had  a  head  that  would  do.  He  had 
noticed  the  shape  of  it  immediately  on  her  return, 


78  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

and  had  been  lost  in  admiration  of  it  many  times 
after.  He  laid  awake  several  nights  thinking 
what  a  magnificent  specimen  it  would  make  if 
only  that  heavy  covering  of  hair  was  out  of  the 
way. 

Another  statement  of  Lavater's  occurred  to  him 
in  conjunction  with  that  idea.  It  was  that  "vanity 
and  pride  is  the  general  character  of  all  women!1' 
He  supposed  Lavater  was  right,  in  fact,  he  was 
pretty  confident  of  it.  And  he  believed  she  set 
considerable  store  by  that  hair.  He  had  heard 
Cousin  Agnace  exclaim  over  the  charming  way  in 
which  it  would  kink  up  on  wet  days,  and  he 
remembered  Evoli  had  looked  pleased,  and  de- 
clared her  dear  cousin  was  flattering  her. 

Of  course  it  would  be  a  bit  of  a  sacrifice  to  part 
with,  especially  before  the  wedding.  He  thought 
of  that;  but  if  he,  her  future  husband,  the  man 
who  would  have  to  look  at  her  most,  requested  it, 
could  she  refuse?  Not  if  her  affection  was  what 
she  had  said  it  always  would  be,  he  decided.  He 
remembered  how  often  she  had  said,  "Put  my  love 
to  any  test,  dear  Tommett,  and  see  if  I  do  not 
stand  it,  and  maintain  my  maiden  vow.  Even 
though  you  drank  or  chewed  tobacco,  I  would 
none  the  less  look  on  myself  as  your  wife.  Put 
my  affection  to  any  test  if  you  doubt." 

He  remembered  a  few  of  those  passionate 
appeals,  made  before  she  went  away,  and  he 
decided  that  he  would  comply  with  her  request. 

She  was  not  in  the  house  when  he  called.  Jim 
said  she  was  in  the  garden,  writing.  He  went  to 


A  KOMAUNT.  79 

the  garden.  What  place  so  fitting  to  the  meeting 
of  lovers?  he  said  to  himself,  and  looked  in  the 
hall  mirror  as  he  passed  it,  and  smoothed  the  hair 
forward  a  little  from  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
then  he  sauntered  out  to  find  her. 

He  could  not  see  her,  but  in  one  of  the  arbors — 
a  rose  arbor — he  found  her  writing  materials. 
There  was  her  portfolio  and  the  ink,  and  on  the 
bench  beside  them,  were  some  loose  sheets  of  her 
MSS.  He  knew  that  wherever  she  was,  she 
would  come  back  there  for  them.  So  he  sat 
down,  and  for  pastime  picked  up  some  of  the 
sheets  to  see  what  she  was  doing — he  was  confi- 
dent she  would  not  object,  they  had  read  too 
many  together  for  that. 

The  first  of  the  story  was  not  there,  but  his  sur- 
prise and  delight  were  great  when  he  found  by 
those  fragments  that  the  subject  of  it  was  in  part 
Phrenology,  or  Craniology,  he  could  not  quite 
make  out  which,  but  there  was  enough  to  show 
that  the  dear  girl  had  entered  more  deeply  into  a 
sympathy  with  his  beloved  work  than  he  had  ever 
guessed.  She  had  evidently  meant  it  as  a  sweet 
surprise  to  him.  He  felt  as  he  made  the  discovery 
that  she  was  once  more  his  Minna  Evolina.  He 
could  not  make  out  much  of  the  plot  because  of 
parts  missing,  but  there  was  a  craniologist  in  the 
story;  an  old  man,  he  imagined.  It  did  not  say 
so,  but  from  the  little  bits  of  description  and  his 
way  of  speaking  it  could  not  be  a  young  one. 
And  the  old  man  fancied  himself  in  love  with  a 
girl,  but  he  really  was  only  in  love  with  the 


80  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

skulls.  That  seemed  to  be  the  idea  of  it  as  far 
as  lie  could  gather,  and  he  thought  it  must  be  an 
original  one.  But  whatever  the  merits  of  the 
story  may  have  been,  it  pleased  him  just  then, 
for  it  showed  an  interest  in  his  study  that  he  had 
not  suspected,  and  if  his  appreciation  of  it  was 
so  great,  all  the  more  probability  that  she  would 
enter  with  enthusiasm  into  the  proposition  he  had 
come  to  make,  and  he  was  in  quite  a  state  of 
elation  when  he  heard  her  voice.  She  was  talk- 
ing to  some  one  in  the  garden,  but  she  was  coming 
closer,  so  he  waited. 

"  I  can  not  use  it,"  she  said,  as  if  she  was  wor- 
ried, "and  I  am  so  sorry,  it  is  the  cleverest  char- 
acter story  I  have  written." 

"  Can  not  you  change  it  one  little  bit,  enough 
not  to  be  known?"  And  the  Professor,  who  had 
risen  to  go  to  her,  stopped,  for  it  was  Cousin 
Eduard's  voice.  "No,  I  can  not,"  and  the  tone 
was  more  despondent  than  before,  "if  I  change 
it  I  lose  the  character.  It  would  no  longer  be  a 
distinct  type." 

The  Professor  sat  down  again  when  he  heard 
that  word,  he  was  tired  of  it. 

"  So  unfortunate!"  said  the  slick,  smooth  voice 
again,  "ah,  ma  belle  cousin,  why  were  you  not 
more  wise?" 

"How  was  I  to  know?"  and  she  seemed  more 
vexed.  "  I  did  not  know  very  much,  any  way, 
I  was  a  silly  little  creature.  It  is  my  own  char- 
acter that  is  changed,  not — not  any  other  person's. 
I  tell  you  the  truth,  I  used  to  think  that  person 


A  KOMAITNT.  81 

very  admirable,  because  of  the  learning,  I  sup- 
pose, that  was  so  far  beyond  my  own — then,  and 
it  made  me  do  and  say  all  sorts  of  foolish  things 
that  I  do  not  like  to  remember.  But  it  will  all 
come  right  no  doubt  when  I  get  myself  to  think- 
ing in  the  same  way  again,  and  I  will  in  time,  of 
course." 

"How  lamentable  that  you  are  made  to  see  but, 
a  type,  instead  of  what  you  once  did  see,"  said 
the  smooth  voice  again.  "  It  is  a  great  pity  when 
we  have  to  quarrel  with  a  too  clear  vision." 

"I  would  rather  not  talk  about  it  anymore, 
Eduard,"  said  Evoli,  "it  does  not  seem  right, 
only  you  saw  the  story  and  the — the  sketches  I 
made,  and  you  know  what  it  all  meant.  I  really 
could  not  help  writing  it,  the  idea  was  so  humor- 
ous it  was  a  pleasure  to  write  it  up." 

"My  poor  cousin!  if  you  are  not  given  that. 
sympathy  and  understanding  which  your  soul 
requires  I  tremble  for  you!  You  are  so  sensitive 
to  impressions." 

"Say  no  more,  Eduard,"  and  Evoli  spoke  as 
if  she  was  studying  for  tragedy;  "do  not  grieve 
for  me  in  Italy,  I  will  live,  I  must,  that  my  work 
may  live." 

"And  the  story?" 

"We  must  burn  it." 

"My  brave  cousin!  you  speak  the  words  with 
courage — but  I  see  you  look  pale.  Yes,  at  once 
you  should  burn  it,  and  bury  with  it  the  memory 
—wait!  I  think  I  have  a  match  in  the  pocket  of 
this,  my  waistcoat," 


82  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"  There  are  some  sheets  of  it  on  my  desk,  will 
you  bring  them?' ' 

"Here  to  the  garden?" 

"Yes — yes,  the  idea  of  the  story  came  to  me  in 
the  garden,  let  me  bury  it  among  the  flowers. 
The  rest  of  it  is  in  the  rose  arbor,  come  to  me 
there." 

The  Professor  was  rather  muddled  at  all  the  pre- 
amble that  he  did  not  understand.  He  felt  antag- 
onistic when  he  thought  of  that  fellow's  sympathy 
that  was  evidently  uncalled  for — he  could  not 
discover  any  reason  for  sympathy.  He  even  felt 
like  stepping  out  and  asking  what  he  meant  by 
it,  and  telling  him  he  was  a  meddling  jackanapes. 
And  then  he  remembered  that  Cousin  Eduard, 
though  lazy,  was  muscular,  there  might  be  a 
scene,  Evoli  might  be  frightened,  and  he  sat 
still. 

Evoli  came  into  the  arbor  looking  pensive,  she 
said  the  surprise  of  seeing  him  there  was  most 
agreeable.  And  then  she  looked  through  the 
rose  leaves  to  see  if  people  on  the  other  side 
would  be  visible  to  the  naked  eye.  And  she 
must  have  concluded  not,  for  she  said  again  that 
it  was  most  agreeable.  She  sat  down  on  the 
bench  with  the  portfolio  between  them,  and  he 
lifted  it  and  slid  up  closer. 

He  intended  asking  what  she  and  her  cousin 
were  talking  about,  but  when  he  saw  her  he  for- 
got all  about  it.  He  could  see  and  think  of 
nothing  but  the  well-shaped  cranium,  and  the 
development  of  ideality  needed  for  that  illustra- 


A  ROMAUNT.  83 

tion.  And  he  said  lovingly,  "You  remember 
dear  Min — my  dear  Evoli,  how  often  we  made 
promises  that  should  our  devotion  be  put  to  the 
test  we  should  not  fail — do  you  remember?'' 

"  Yes,"  Evoli  thought  she  did. 

The  reply  was  not  very  encouraging  since  she 
only  "thought"  it.  The  Professor  sighed  a  sigh 
for  the  past  adoration  that  had  no  suppositions, 
it  had  known  all  that  was,  all  that  would  be, 
through  all  eternity  of  love. 

But  this  was  not  a  moment  for  retrospection — 
it  was  business,  that  Lead  meant  a  good  many 
dollars  to  him  through  the  interest  it  would 
awaken  in  the  eyes  of  the  public  when  they  knew 
that  a  beautiful  woman  had  sacrificed  her  beauty 
for  awhile  for  the  furtherance  of  this  grand  edu- 
cational achievement,  so  he  went  on— 

"  The  time  has  come,  dear  Evoli,  when  I  must 
put  your  love  to  a  test;  when  I  have  to  ask  of  you 
what  may  at  first  seem  like  a  sacrifice,  but  when 
looked  at  from  a  philanthropic  point  of  view — 
that  of  benefit  to  many — will,  I  am  sure,  be  one  to 
awaken  your  warmest  approval." 

She  pulled  two  or  three  rings  off  her  fingers 
absent-mindedly  and  tried  them  on  her  thumbs, 
and  finding  they  would  not  fit,  she  slid  them  back 
where  they  belonged,  and  said,  languidly: 

"What  is  it?" 

"Would  you,  dearest,  to  prove  the  devotion 
you  have  so  often  avowed,  to  glorify  the  name 
you  are  one  day  to  share — ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  when  he  got  that  far;  it  was 


84  IN  LOVE'3  DOMAINS. 

a  look  of  curiosity,  but  not  of  pleased,  reassuring 
curiosity.  He  felt  himself  weaken  a  little  under 
it,  and  then  made  an  earnest  attempt  to  put  the 
request  in  the  words  that  would  impress  her  most 
favorably;  but  the  words  were  slow  coming,  and 
she  said,  rather  impatiently: 

"  Well,  Professor,  what  in  the  world  is  it'i  • ' 

There  was  another  spasmodic  effort  to  find  some 
glossing,  glowing  phrase  in  which  to  express  his 
plea,  and  succeeded  in  saying,  pathetically: 

"Would  you — would  you  shave  your  head? " 

She  started  as  if  to  run,  but  he  caught  her  and 
held  her  while  he  tried  to  explain.  She  must  have 
really  been  very  timid  and  more  nervous  than  he 
had  thought  possible,  for  she  imagined  him  insane. 
And  it  was  not  until  he  had  taken  from  his  pocket 
the  pictures  of  the  Calmuc  Tartar  and  the  Ethio- 
pian that  she  could  be  made  to  understand  what 
he  meant  by  the  request.  And  even  then  he  was 
not  sure  that  the  proof  had  won  him  any  favor. 

"  And  you  really  anticipated  doing  me  the  honor 
of  placing  my  head  with  such  a  collection? " 

"  Such  a  collection,"  spoken  in  that  tone,  is  not 
complimentary  to  the  author  of  said  collection. 
The  Professor  felt  the  sting.  He  wanted  to  tell 
her  she  should  be  proud  of  being  selected  as  a 
specimen,  but  he  didn't.  He  told  her  firmly,  with 
the  old  manner  she  had  admired  once,  that  an 
attempt  to  educate  the  masses  was  a  subject  for 
commendation,  not  sarcasm. 

He  thought  that  oak-like  dignity  might  im- 
press her,  but  it  didn't.  She  said  she  "  did  not 


A  ROMAUNT.  85 

fancy  that  the  masses  would  ever  hear  of  the 
attempt." 

That  was  unkind,  but  he  bore  it,  and  heaped 
coals  of  fire  on  her  head  by  saying: 

"Evoli,  my  soon-to-be  wife!  if  it  was  to  please 
you,  I  would  gladly  shave  every  hair  off  my  head 
without  question." 

And  all  she  said  was — 

"  You  would  not  need  to." 

The  sentence  was  brief,  but  full  of  meaning.  He. 
had  his  hat  in  his  hand.  He  put  it  on  when  she 
said  that. 

And  just  then  Cousin  Eduard's  voice  sounded 
on  the  other  side  of  the  arbor: 

"Are  you  there,  my  Cousin  Evoli?"  he  asked. 
"  Here  are  the  leaves,  also  some  drawings  of  them 
that  I  found  there.  Agnace  calls  me;  she  must 
not  see  them,  neither  your  betrothed;  they  tell  me 
he  is  in  the  house.  I  thrust  the  papers  through 
the  hedge,  also  a  match.  I  return  to  you  quickly. 
Adieu." 

Evoli  grabbed  for  the  papers  so  quickly  it 
aroused  the  Professor's  interest  in  them.  He 
grabbed  for  them,  too.  There  was  no  word  spoken, 
but  failing  in  getting  the  papers,  she  reached  for 
the  portfolio;  so  did  he.  Between  them  one  of 
the  bits  of  paper  fell  to  the  ground.  He  recovered 
it.  It  was  a  pencil  drawing.  Did  I  tell  you 
she  could  draw?  She  could.  The  sketch  was 
hers. 

"How  dare  you  look  at  my  work  when  I  give 
you  no  permission?"  she  asked,  trying  to  reach 


86  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

for  it,  but  he  was  just  tall  enough  to  keep  it 
beyond  her. 

"A  man  can  be  pardoned,  surely,  for  wanting  to 
look  at  his  own  picture,"  he  said. 

When  he  made  that  remark  her  visage  became 
inflamed  by  the  superabundance  of  blood  carried 
up  to  it — that  is,  she  blushed.  But  the  blush  was 
not  of  the  kind  that  is  caused  by  the  emotion  of 
love,  such  as  had  once  colored  Minna  Evolina's 
cheek.  Far  from  it.  This  congestion — medi- 
cally speaking — was  a  secondary  result  of  spas- 
modic contraction  of  the  respiratory  muscles  of 
the  larynx,  accompanying  clinching  of  the  teeth, 
leading  to  incipient  asphyxia.  She  did  not 
speak,  however,  she  just  sat  down. 

The  drawing  was  a  caricature,  but  there  was  in 
it  enough  of  a  likeness  to  recognize  himself.  He 
was  leaning  with  his  elbows  on  a  table,  and  in  his 
hands  he  held  a  skull  over  which  he  was  gloating 
like  a  lover  on  newly  discovered  charms.  A  lady 
sat  opposite  with  a  breakfast  cap  on  her  head. 
She  offered  him  a  cup  of  coffee  with  a  love-lorn 
look  in  her  eyes;  he  did  not  see  her,  he  was 
oblivious  to  all  but  the  hollow-eyed  specimen  in 
his  hands.  Yes,  there  was  his  bald  head  and  his 
thin  neck,  the  latter  craned  forward  to  make  it 
look  thinner  than  ever. 

"Very  good,"  he  said,  in  commendation,  "a 
good  illustration  of  the  scene  described.  Oh,  yes, 
I  read  it  while  waiting  for  you  to  get  through 
talking  to  Cousin  Eduard.  I  know  about  the 
whole  story  now,  the  misunderstood  souls  and  the 


A   ROMATJNT.  87 

fallen  ideals,  and  the  whole  business.  I  am  glad 
you  have  found  some  recompense  in  a  type;  my 
gladness  is  only  exceeded  by  my  aifection." 

He  had  begun  coolly  and  calmly,  determined  to 
preserve  his  dignity.  He  would  let  her  see  he 
had  some  live  brains,  though  he  did  study  dead 
ones.  But  the  unlucky  reference  to  Cousin 
Eduard  brought  him  wrathy  memories.  He 
wanted  to  fight  some  one — the  man,  first  of  all, 
who  had  seen  that  caricature,  and  his  voice  rose 
several  tones.  He  felt  that  it  sounded  even 
shrill — an  echo  of  his  mother's  when  she  was 
angry. 

"  Affection!"  she  retorted,  in  answer  to  his  last 
statement,  ' '  how  can  you  speak  of  affection  when 
you  don' t  know  what  it  means?  You!  why  you 
would  shave  my  head,  and  no  doubt  boil  me 
alive  if  you  wanted  my  skeleton,  but  you  can't 
have  it!" 

"And  I  don't  want  it!"  he  said,  energetically. 
"  I  don't  want  even  the  skeleton  of  a  woman  who 
has  so  little  feeling  as  to  caricature  what  should 
be  her  dearest  emotions,  and  sell  them  at  so  much 
a  page.  Such  a  woman  can  never  be  wife  or 
mother  to  Prof.  Thomas  Q.  Sef ton's  children." 

And  he  straightened  himself  up  and  looked  at 
her  with  a  calm,  decided  gaze,  that  told  her  he  was 
not  to  be  persuaded,  even  if  she  wanted  to. 

He  did  not  learn  if  she  wanted  to,  he  does  not 
know  yet.  She  picked  up  her  garden  hat  and 
said,  she  had  never  proposed  to  be  wife  or 
mother  to  his  children,  and  asked  him  how  many 


88  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

he  had,  and  then  walked  away  before  he  could 
answer. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  an  absorbing  affection 
that  defied  change;  a  love  that  was  jnst  as  intense  as 
any  other  love — even  one  in  a  story.  The  Professor 
in  it  was  a  class-mate  of  the  Professor  who  writes 
this,  they  were  very  much  together,  hence  the 
knowledge  of  this  romance. 

To  satisfy  the  minds  of  the  readers  who  always 
want  to  know  the  history  of  people  into  the  next 
generation,  I  will  state  that  Evoli  turned  her 
back  on  Darlington  and  went  back  to  Italy.  She 
and  Cousin  Eduard  soon  after  that  decided  to 
put  in  their  lives  studying  types  together.  They 
have  found  a  half  dozen  or  so  on  whom  they 
would  have  to  pay  taxes  if  all  one's  live  stock 
came  under  taxation.  They  no  doubt  welcome 
them  as  heirs  to  their  trade  marks  and  glory.  I 
suppose  they  call  them  all  Eduard  and  Evoli,  as 
no  other  names  would  be  romantic  enough  for 
those  ethereal  souls.  I  doubt  if  you  could  find  a 
Tommett  among  them. 

The  Professor  awakened  from  the  love  of  his 
childhood  just  in  time  to  realize  the  discontent  it 
might  have  led  him  to;  he  never  ventured  so 
near  a  yoke  again.  He  still  lives  in  tranquil 
enjoyment  of  his  collection  that  has  gained  a 
reputation  satisfying  all  his  hopes. 

Now  you  will  see  this  is  not  a  case  of  forced 
separation  of  fond  hearts,  there  was  no  adverse 
influence  as  the  cause  of  that  love  that  just  got 
sick  and  died  a  natural  death,  unmourned.  In 


A  KOMAUNT.  89 

the  beginning  it  had  been  an  illusion — the  sort  of 
illusions  that  won't  wear.  I  have  not  found  any 
of  them  yet  that  did.  It  was  simply  the  natural 
result  of  lives  and  people  that  grow  older  and 
away  from  the  things  they  liked  to  play  with  as 
children;  we  are  progressive,  we  want  new  toys, 
new  dolls.  Some  people  hug  their  old  ones 
through  life  and  pretend  they  don't  see  the  noses 
that  get  battered,  and  the  paint  that  is  chipped 
off  the  cheeks.  Those  two  might  have  done  the 
same  thing  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  accident  of 
the  types  and  the  skulls;  no  doubt  they  both 
congratulated  themselves  on  the  accident,  the 
writer  knows  one  of  them  did. 

This  story,  as  I  said  before,  is  told  with  an 
object.  It  may  or  may  not  convince  my  col- 
leagues, but  it  was  the  only  one  I  knew,  and  I 
had  to  tell  it  or  say  nothing. 

I  state  again  that  this  is  the  only  romance  in 
the  brain  of  the  author.  I  do  so  that  there  may 
be  no  requests  for  more  from  a  greedy  public.  I 
do  not  intend  to  pose  as  a  romance  writer,  and 
have  not  time  to  answer  letters  from  people  I 
don't  know.  I  have  no  autographs  to  spare,  and 
don't  know  any  verses  for  albums. 


GALEED. 

THE  BOHEMIAN'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  This  heap  is  a  witness  between  me  and  thce  this  day.  There 
fore  was  the  name  of  it  called  Galeed. 

"AndMizpah;  for  he  said,  The  Lord  watch  between  me  and 
thee  when  we  are  absent  oue  from  another." — Genesis  xxxi, 
48,  49. 

"And  will  you  not  come  with  us,  Dale — 
really?" 

"Not  if  you  will  excuse  me.  I  stopped  only 
to  tell  you  I  felt  like  trying  to  catch  up  with  some 
lagging  correspondence  to-night." 

"But  think!  the  last  week  of  the  season,  and 
if  you  really  go  mooning  out  into  the  country 
as  you  intend,  you  will  be  buried  out  of  sight  of 
the  drama  for  weeks  to  come. " 

"I  should  not  mind  much  if  you  would  share 
my  exile,"  and  the  man's  hand  lay  a  moment  on 
the  warm  whiteness  of  the  girl's  arm.  A  pretty 
arm  and  a  pretty  girl  with  her  large,  brown  eyes 
glancing  at  him  witchingly,  and  the  green,  foamy 
stuff  of  her  evening  dress  enhancing  the  warmth 
of  her  blonde  hair,  and  the  red  lips  turned  toward 
him  in  a  pert  way  that  was  a  half  challenge. 

(90) 


GALEED.  91 

"Would  you  not?  how  singular."  But  the 
mirror  opposite  the  steps  where  they  stood  told 
the  clear  eyes  that  it  was  not  at  all  singular. 

"Why  wait  any  longer,  Blanche?"  he  asked, 
persuasively;  "my  probation  is  lasting  until  I 
begin  to  feel  old." 

"Well,  you  see,  Dale,  our  plans,  our  trip  to 
the  other  side,  would  be  broken  up,  and — oh,  well, 
so  many  things." 

"  Yes,  I  know — so  many  things,"  he  repeated. 

The  brown  eyes  glanced  at  him  curiously — was 
there  any  significance  in  his  tone,  or  was  it  only 
her  imagination? 

"And  I  know  that  in  reality  you  are  longing 
to  get  away  to  your  scribbling,"  she  hastened  to 
say  half-teasingly,  "and  all  by  yourself  too, 
though  your  gallantry  will  not  allow  you  to  say 
so.  You  should  thank  me  for  taking  myself 
off  your  hands  for  so  much  longer." 

' '  Should  I? "  he  asked  rather  moodily ;  ' '  well,  I 
do  not  think  I  am,  and — wait  a  moment  Blanche — 
did  you  say  'yes'  that  night  because  you  cared  for 
me,  or  only  because  that  light  in  the  conservatory 
was  so  romantically  dim?  rather  the  orthodox 
surroundings  for  proposal  and  acceptance.  I 
remember  you  had  on  a  lovely  new  dress,  and 
were  so  well  satisfied  with  yourself,  and,  there- 
fore, with  me.  Was  it  all  the  fault  of  the  sug- 
gestive surroundings,  or — " 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  the  girl,  "what  an 
imagination  you  have;  a  rather  ironical  one, 
to-night." 


92  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

Just  then  a  voice  from  below  called  "Blanche 
Athol,  how  long  are  you  going  to  keep  us 
waiting?" 

•'  There  is  Nellie  calling — can't  you  come?  Oh, 
those  stupid  letters;  are  you  sure  one  of  them  is 
not  to  that  mysterious  individual,  Mrs.  Holmes? 
No?  Well  I  am  not  jealous  of  the  rest,  so  I  will 
leave  you." 

"  If  I  thought  you  cared  enough  to  have  any 
jealousy  in  the  matter,  I  would  feel  reassured  in 
many  ways,"  he  said  quite  earnestly,  detaining 
her  an  instant  with  his  hand  touching  the  petite 
waist. 

"Then  be  assured,"  she  answered,  with  a  co- 
quettish turn  of  her  head,  "I  am  ferociously 
jealous.  I  am  in  the  last  stages  of  infatuation,  and 
to  prove  it — is  any  one  looking?  there! " 

"Blanche!"  called  the  voice  again,  "Please 
remember  there  are  reflecting  mirrors  on  that 
landing,  and  I  have  an  excellent  view  of  Dale 
and  yourself  from  here.  If  you  will  only  stand 
still  a  few  moments  I  will  call  Mr.  Haverly  to 
help  me  enjoy  it." 

The  two  on  the  landing  drew  apart  quickly. 

"Is  Dick  Haverly  going  with  you  to  the 
theatre?"  he  asked,  rather  sharply. 

"Why,  yes,  he  was  to  come  for  Nellie,  you 
know." 

"Was  he?  No,  I  did  not  know.  But  of  late 
I've  been  drifting  into  the  conviction  that  there 
are  several  things  in  the  world  I  do  not  know." 

"Really?  how  clever!    But  if  nothing  else,  you 


GALEED.  93 

must  know  that  we  will  miss  the  first  act  of  the 
comedy  if  I  keep  them  waiting  any  longer.  Good- 
night, and  happy  dreams  of — Mrs.  Holmes." 

And  laughing  in  a  tinkling,  silvery  way,  with 
mocking  face  turned  upward  toward  him,  the 
girl  ran  down  the  steps,  he  watching  her  in  the 
mirror  until  she  vanished. 

"The  first  act  of  the  comedy,"  he  muttered, 
sauntering  down  the  hotel  corridor  to  his  own 
room.  "I  wonder  if  it  is  not  rather  the  begin- 
ning of  a  farce  for  both  of  us — the  time  of  action 
required  for  it  merely — an  existence." 


CHAPTEK  II. 

"  Fool! "  said  my  muse  to  me, 

"  Look  into  your  heart  and  write." 

PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

HOTEL  ARLINGTON,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 

MY  DEAR  GEORGE:  I  suppose  you  think  me  a 
neglectful  sort  of  fellow,  that  I  have  not  written 
you  for  so  long.  But  be  a  little  lenient  and  I  will 
try  to  make  amends.  I  shall  go  to  you  for  a  few 
weeks,  if  possible,  this  spring.  I  am  anxious  to 
take  my  "outing"  away  from  the  social  swim, 
and  what  spot  was  ever  quite  so  restful  as  your 
parsonage.  But  it  will  be  for  only  a  short  time. 
I  have  work  planned  for  the  summer  that  will 
take  me  to  other  localities. 

I  would  go  to  you  to-night  if  I  could — away 
from  the  gas,  arid  the  glitter,  and  the  tinkle  of 


94  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

things  hollow — how  we  would  talk  away  into  the 
"wee  sma'  hours!"  I  think  a  good  talk  with  you 
to-night  would  take  from  me  a  little  of  the  tired- 
ness that  comes  to  us  all  at  times.  I  have  just 
got  through  with  a  piece  of  work  I  have  been  at 
for  three  months,  and  it  has  left  me  with  a  half 
feeling  of  elation,  and  a  half  sorrow  at  part- 
ing with  its  companionship.  It  has  seemed  for 
so  long  only  my  own,  now  it  belongs  to  the 
public. 

I  say  only  my  own,  but  I  think,  yes  I  am  quite 
sure,  it  has  seemed  to  belong  partly  to  one  other. 
I  wonder  if  you,  from  your  safe-guard  of  an 
ideal  love  that  left  earth  too  early  for  its  human 
consummation,  can  understand  a  mortal  like  my- 
self who  never  seems  sure  of  an  anchor?  Yes, 
though  it  is  unlike  yourself,  yet  I  think  you  will 
understand.  You  have  understood  me  all  my 
life — more  than  any  other. 

Do  you  remember  the  plans  we  used  to  make  as 
to  our  lives  when  I  would  find  a  soul  that  was  to 
me  what  my  sister  was  to  you?  I  think  over  those 
past  hopes  very,  very  often  of  late,  and  I  wonder 
if  that  perfect  love  of  yours  and  hers  was  excep- 
tional in  lives.  I  see  nothing,  have  known  noth- 
ing like  it,  and  yet  I  have  wanted,  needed  just 
such  companionship  often.  If  it  could  be  given 
me,  if  only  for  a  season,  I  believe  I  could  be  lifted 
above  much  in  my  own  nature  that  is  gross. 

This  looks  like  a  confession  of  something  more 
than  usually  evil  in  me;  no,  I  do  not  intend  it  so. 
But  to  you  I  have  ever  gone,  since  as  a  dreamy, 


GALEED.  95 

untrained  boy,  I  submitted  to  you  my  first  lurid 
attempts  at  drama,  my  first  efforts  at  verse  or 
fiction;  then  I  did  not  know  enough  to  disguise 
from  you  my  inner  nature,  and  its  complex 
wants,  and  now  the  knowledge  that  you  under- 
stand and  sympathize,  brings  me  to  you  just  the 
same.  It  may  be  my  likeness  to  Julia  has  gained 
for  me  an  affection  from  you  that  is  closer  than 
that  of  most  men.  But  if  a  love  for  a  woman  and 
from  a  woman,  such  as  I  used  to  dream  of,  should 
ever  have  been  mine,  I  think  I  would  have  gone 
to  her  as  I  do  to  you  with  these  letters. 

I  suppose  you  are  disapproving  of  this,  that 
you  say,  "  why  do  you  not  go  to  your  fiancee?" 
And  you  are  right,  only  earnest  as  my  desire  in 
that  direction  is  for  helpful  companionship,  I 
find  only  one  side  of  my  nature  appealed  to  there, 
only  one  side  of  my  nature  cared  for  or  under- 
stood. Do  you  think  I  am  looking  at  it  only 
from  a  selfish  point  of  view?  I  am  not  altogether 
so  bad  as  that.  But  I  have  slowly  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  needs  me  not  at  all.  In  fact, 
we  could  drift  along  contentedly  together,  but 
that  we  are  necessary  to  each  other — no. 

Why  then  these  relations?  Well,  for  want  of  a 
pilot,  souls  drift  into  strange  harbors.  And 
when  you  questioned  Alex  Dorman  of  her,  I 
think  his  words  would  help  the  explanation  some- 
what when  he  said,  "well,  Blanche  is  not  so  intel- 
lectual or  strictly  beautiful  if  you  come  to  analyze 
her  attractions,  but  she  charms  people."  She  is 
delightful  in  many  ways,  and  I  am  irritated  when 


98  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

I  leave  her  feeling  a  want  unfulfilled,  mentally  or 
soulfully.  Do  I  expect  too  much?  I  fear  so. 
Your  love,  my  cousin,  has  given  me  a  glimpse  of 
an  ideal,  and  I  feel  myself  and  my  own  affections 
so  far  below  it. 

Should  I  try  to  explain  this  to  Blanche,  I  can 
fancy  her  amusement  as  she  would  ask  me  how 
my  money  was  lost,  at  cards  or  a  horse-race. 
Well,  I  have  been  lord  of  myself  in  this  affair, 
and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  I  have  a  fool  for 
my  master. 

I  wrote  in  my  last  about  the  acquaintance  I 
have  made,  by  letter,  of  the  artist  who  has  illus- 
trated my  book  just  finished.  I  wish  you  were 
with  me  to-night,  I  think  I  could  read  you  some 
of  those  letters  received  from  her  of  late.  Per- 
haps they  would  help  show  you  the  reason  for 
this  want  of  higher  life,  higher  companionship. 
The  letters  began  simply  on  business  matters 
concerning  the  illustrations,  and  I  am  not  sure  I 
can  tell  you  with  pen  and  unresponsive  paper  just 
how  I  am  affected  by  this  sympathy  with  which 
she  has  entered  into  the  spirit  of  my  work — it  lias 
been  a  revelation  to  me — a  puzzling  pleasure.  I 
seem  in  her  thoughts  to  read  a  double  of  myself, 
but  of  myself  purified,  without  the  alloy  that  at 
times  has  seemed  to  weight  me  down.  I  find 
myself  wondering  much  as  to  her  personality, 
though  I  do  not  believe  I  ever  want  to  see  or 
know  her  saVe  through  those  letters  with  their 
exquisite  touches  of  feeling,  and  their  width  of 
vision  that  suggest  the  spectacles  of  sorrow.  I 


GALEED.  97 

have  an  idea  that  she  is  not  young.  I  do  not 
know  why  I  feel  so,  but  her  style  of  thought  is 
not  in  my  mind  co-existent  with  the  youth  of 
woman.  It  is  to  me  like  the  youth  of  a  man 
before  the  world's  evil  has  claimed  him. 

She  is  married,  I  know  that  by  her  title,  but  it 
is  all  I  know  of  her  life.  Our  letters  have  been 
of  art,  of  books  of  my  own  work  of  which  she 
told  me  faults,  fearlessly.  She  tells  me  I  have 
written  too  much  for  the  pastime  of  others  when 
I  have  material  in  me  that  should  enable  me  to 
write  for  their  good.  Her  letters  have  in  them 
always  those  suggestions  that  bring  back  to  me 
a  youth  in  which  I  dreamed  all  wild  visions  of 
use  and  philanthropy,  tinged  with  enough  poetry 
to  make  them  beautiful.  Those  untainted  dreams 
of  youth!  they  have  drifted  to  me  in  a  flood,  of 
late  days,  when  the  letters  of  this  woman  came  to 
me.  She  does  not  seem  to  see  me  as  a  woman, 
only  a  thing  of  mind  and  intuitive  sympathies, 
and  it  is  so  that  her  influence  is  best. 

I  feel  a  half  shame  in  writing  that  last — in 
writing  you  of  any  woman's  influence  over  me. 
For  you  have  known  of  other  influences;  some 
that  spurred  me  to  ambitions,  too.  But  the  ambi- 
tions that  were  as  feverish  as  the  effects  of  the 
late  suppers,  where  my  divinities  for  the  time  per- 
ished. 

Well,  old  friend,  I  think  you  know  I  have 
tried  to  break  loose  from  all  that;  tried  to  steer 
myself  into  the  correct  order  of  life  since  I  am  to 
be  a  benedict.  Since  I  felt  that  another's  future 

7 


98  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

was  to  depend  on  mine,  I  turned  my  back  on  the 
old  boliemian  style  of  life;  I  tried  to  put  myself 
through  a  mental  and  moral  purification.  It  was 
all  done  for  the  sake  of  another — not,  I  fear,  for 
the  sake  of  goodness.  And  gradually  I  have 
learned  that  my  attempts  in  that  line  are  not 
sympathized  with  as  I  had  hoped  they  would  be. 
They  are  treated  in  a  half- jesting  manner  that  has 
a  mischievous  disbelief  in  me  emerging  from  any 
chrysalis  of  the  past.  I  was  just  awaking  to  that 
revulsion  of  feeling,  and  I  confess  was  smarting 
under  a  sense  of  irritation  when  this  artist  sent 
me  the  first  of  those  letters  that  was  in  any  sense 
personal — letters  with  the  coolness  that  sooths 
and  the  warmth  that  stimulates.  Letters  that 
breathe  of  purity  and  strength  as  if  from  a  soul 
that  has  had  to  struggle  to  keep  them,  and  thus 
understand  the  needs  of  others. 

It  may  have  been  just  the  coming  of  her  faith 
in  me,  at  a  time  when  I  was  despondent  over  my 
reformatory  attempts,  that  made  such  an  impres- 
sion on  me — that  lifted  me,  mentally,  from  the 
slough  into  which  I  had  half  stumbled. 

Well,  her  present  work,  artistically,  is  done  for 
me — or  rather  for  the  publisher,  who  really 
engaged  her.  Her  last  letter  hints  at  multi- 
plicity of  work  and  possible  change  of  address, 
that  seems  to  put  a  veto  on  further  correspond- 
ence. I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  sorry,  delightful 
as  the  exchange  of  thought  has  been.  But  I 
would  not  always  be  content  to  know  her  only  by 
letter,  and  my  ideal  of  her  I  would  not  risk  having 


GALEED.  99 

shattered  by  a  meeting,  as  I  fear  it  would  be.  But, 
just  as  it  is,  I  know  it  lias  helped  me,  and  I  am 
going  to  work,  old  fellow,  with  a  vim  born,  I 
think,  from  one  unknown  woman's  belief  in  me. 
Do  not  think  me  careless,  my  brother-cousin,  of 
the  faith  you  have  always  had  in  me.  But  you 
know  me  personally,  and,  through  your  liking, 
would  give  me  belief.  But  this  other — I  think  it 
is  simply  because  there  is  no  personal  feeling  in 
the  matter — the  knowledge  that  it  is  simply 
my  work  she  cares  for,  that  gives  me  the  desire  to 
make  that  work  high  and  strong  as  her  own  ideas 
of  excellence — ideas  she  has  helped  to  make 
mine. 

Her  own  work  is  strong  and  full  of  feeling.  I 
send  with  this  some  proofs  of  work  done  for  me; 
you  are  judge  enough  to  know  they  are  clever. 

Am  going  to  try  dramatic  work,  soon  as  I  have 
a  little  time.  My  play  last  season  was  only  a 
semi-success,  but  I  will  not  be  satisfied  until  I 
have  produced  at  least  one  play  that  will  run. 
This  summer  I  intend  doing  some  work  on  an 
Indian  theme  of  the  past  century,  a  half  historical 
affair. 

Blanche  intends  going  to  Europe  this  summer 
with  her  sister  and  brother-in-law,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Julian,  so  I  will  be  left  in  bachelor  freedom  for 
many  months  longer.  I  have  asked  that  the  mar- 
riage be  consummated  now,  at  once.  A  contra- 
diction you  will  say  of  many  things  in  this  letter; 
yes,  but  we  are,  after  all,  fond  of  each  other,  I 
think.  We  seem  apart,  but  I  fear  that  absence 


100  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

will  only  drift  us  further  in  that  direction.  How- 
ever, my  suggestion  on  the  question  has  been 
vetoed,  so  I  settle  down  to  work  during  her 
absence. 

Write — write  to  me  often  from  the  seclusion  of 
your  village  life.  I  write  you  to-night  much  as  I 
would  write  in  a  journal  that  was  for  only  my 
own  reading — just  as  I  used  to  write  you.  For  the 
past  few  years  I  have  drifted  away  from  you  a 
little,  my  life  for  awhile  was  not  in  keeping  with 
your  hopes  of  me;  I  know  that  it  helped  to  cut 
off  in  part  that  old  sweet  intercourse  that  was 
ours  when  my  sister  and  her  influence  was  with 
us. 

Well,  my  cousin,  I  feel  that  I  am  led  back  to 
the  old  walks  and  to  you,  and  the  soul  that  does 
it  is,  I  think,  akin  to  the  soul  of  Julia,  this 
woman  whose  name  tells  one  nothing,  Judith 
Holmes.  Your  prayers  are  of  more  avail  than 
mine,  remember  her  in  them  for  my  sake,  will  you 
not?  That  seems  a  strange  request,  but  I  ask  it 
in  all  earnestness.  There  has  been  no  hint  of 
sorrow,  or  want  of  sympathy,  in  her  letters,  but 
I  am  filled  with  the  thought  that  she  knows 
unhappiness — that  from  some  depth  of  pain,  she 
has  learned  to  read  between  the  lines  of  other 
people's  discontent.  I  am  not  sure  whether  I 
think  of  her  as  an  ideal  mother,  or  sister,  or 
sweetheart;  all  seem  blended  in  the  soul  I  have 
gained  a  glimpse  of. 

Never  mind  if  I  run  into  extravagance  of 
expression;  that  will  tone  down  when  I  settle  to 


GALEED.  101 

work  and  get  a  little  used  to  this  breath  of  youth- 
ful energy  that  has  come  back  to  me.  Try  and 
be  a  little  glad  with  me. 

Your  cousin, 

DALE. 


THE  PARSONAGE,  GTLENVALE,  MASS. 

MY  DEAR  DALE:  Of  course  I  am  glad,  and 
am  thankful  as  you  are  to  the  woman  who  has 
helped  me  to  be  so.  I  am  interested  in  her  and 
her  work;  the  latter  is  undeniably  good.  I  have 
regretted  that  wandering  of  yours  more  than  I 
would  have  expressed  if  you  had  not  yourself 
brought  up  the  subject,  still  you  are  not  yet 
thirty.  The  feverish  fascinations  of  worldly  life 
and  worldly  loves  seldom  lose  their  hold  on  a 
man  of  your  temperament  so  early,  not  unless  he 
has  the  great  help  that  is  the  lever  of  the  world 
—Love — the  love  that  exalts,  that  helps  us  to  an 
understanding  of  what  is  best  in  our  own  hearts. 
You,  in  the  early  part  of  your  career,  sought  such 
companionship  of  thought,  though  the  search 
wandered  into  strange  paths  that  offered  alluring 
substitutes. 

Your  marriage  will,  I  think,  do  more  toward 
contenting  you  than  you  imagine  now.  You  need 
an  anchor,  and  a  wife  is  a  most  excellent  one.  I 
believe  it  is  the  idea  of  your  prospective  union 
that  has  led  you  unconsciously  into  the  train  of 
thought  that  is  with  you  now.  The  sympathy  of 
this  unknown  nature  has  helped  you  to  give 


102  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

expression  to  it.  But  the  germs  were  planted 
when  you  asked  for  the  life  companionship  of  the 
woman  you  are  to  marry. 

I  think  this  other  lady — Mrs.  Holmes — is  an 
earnest,  helpful  nature,  who,  seeing  the  Haws  in 
work  that  was  otherwise  good,  had  the  courage  to 
tell  you  so,  setting  aside  the  conventional  for  the 
sake  of  the  useful.  Men  need  that  the  world 
hold  such  women,  and  though  you  should  not 
hear  from  her  again,  I  shall  endeavor  to  keep  in 
your  mind  her  interest  in  you. 

Come  to  me  here  as  soon  as  you  choose,  there 
is  always  a  welcome  for  you.  Come,  I  long  to 
talk  to  you  again  as  a  boy.  A  boy  who  has  seen, 
as  in  a  vision,  the  folly  and  the  soul  sickness  of 
illicit  sweets — who  knows  them  all,  and  yet  turns 
so  thankfully  to  the  wholesome  purities  of  home, 
the  haven  that  abolishes  either  false  stimulants 
or  narcotics. 

Yours,  my  boy,  earnestly, 

GEORGE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Some  strange  shame  put  weight  upon  my  tongue,  I  only 
watched  her. — Foots  Revenge. 

A  clatter  and  chatter  sounded  through  the  halls 
and  along  the  verandahs  of  a  hotel  in  Oyster  Bay, 
Long  Island,  a  summer  hotel  that  closes  its  doors 
when  the  leaves  fall,  and  only  opens  them  again 
when  the  peach  blossoms  make  the  trees  pink. 


GALEED.  103 

The  young  people  in  gay  guise  of  lawn  tennis 
and  boating  dress  came  trooping  in  under  the 
trees  at  the  lunch  hour,  and  through  them  the 
man  called  Dale  made  his  way  to  the  hotel  regis- 
ter, a  half  dozen  girls  fluttering  away  from  the 
desk  to  give  him  room,  and  fluttering  back  again 
to  glance  at  the  signature  when  they  thought  him 
out  of  hearing. 

"  Dale  Alison,"  chirruped  one. 

"  Brooklyn,"  added  another. 

*'  Wonder  what  he  is?" 

"He  looks  like  something." 

"  Something,  that's  definite,  Grace." 

"  Oh,  you  know — something  unusual." 

"Yes,  unusually  tall." 

"  Or  unusually  handsome,  perhaps?"  This,  sar- 
castically, from  one  of  the  girls  who  preferred 
blonde  specimens  of  masculinity. 

"No;  you  all  understand  what  I  mean.  He 
looks  like  an  actor,  or  a  minister,  or — well,  some- 
thing uncommon.  No,  he  is  not  quite  handsome, 
but  he  is  striking,  and  his  eyes  are  lovely!  they 
seem  to  have  so  much  in  them." 

"  It's  a  hopeless  case,"  said  one,  pathetically. 

"  Yes,  love  at  first  sight,"  ventured  another. 

"  The  seventh  case  in  the  two  weeks  since  we've 
been  here,"  said  the  girl  called  Grace,  "forty- 
eight  hours  of  unutterable  love  given  to  each." 

"Proof  of  her  devotion  to  Ouida.  She  is 
hunting  for  germs  of  passionate  poetry  in  every 
man  she  sees,  if  he  happens  to  look  melancholy; 
this  one  looks  bilious." 


1()4  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"  Yes,  a  regular  black  and  tan." 

"He  is  not!" 

"He  is  so!" 

"  He  has  a  face  an  artist  would  use  for  Fra 
Lippo." 

"  Oh!  oh!  oh!  Girls  if  any  of  yon  have  histori- 
cal knowledge  of  the  gentleman  mentioned,  you 
can  guage  the  bent  of  our  friend's  mind.  I'm 
shocked!" 

"So  am  I." 

"  We  are  all  paralyzed  with  horror." 

And  immediately  six  girls  dropped  into  gro- 
tesque positions,  supposed  to  be  paralytic,  and 
bearing  a  slight  resemblance  to  the  attempts  at 
posing  made  by  the  dragoons  in  "  Patience." 

"You  all  look  extremely  idiotic." 

"Oh!  she's  getting  personal." 

"And  vixenish!" 

"  Cause — unrequited  love.  But  there  he  goes 
again." 

"Which  way?" 

"Into  the  lunch  room.  Say,  girls,  I'm  fam- 
ished." 

"So  am  I." 

"  Let's  get  at  Ms  table." 

"The  waiter  won't  let  us." 

"  Yes,  he  will,"  decided  Grace.  "I'll  smile  on 
him.  Come  on,  all  but  Laura,  she's  tabooed 
because  of  her  susceptible  nature.  Come  along. 
I'm  trying  to  rack  my  brains  to  remember  where 
I've  heard  his  name  before.  I  wish  Tom  was  here, 
or  even  papa,  I'm  sure  they  would  know  him." 


GALEED.  105 

"There,  there!  that  will  do,  you  schemer,  try- 
ing to  pick  up  an  acquaintance  on  the  strength  of 
the  idea  that  possibly  Tom  knows  him.  That  is 
rather  a  transparent  affair,  try  another." 

"Stop  jabbering  and  come  to  lunch,"  advised 
one  of  the  more  practical  creatures. 

And  so  the  new-comer  ate  his  lunch  with  what 
solemnity  he  could,  feeling  five  pairs  of  girlish 
eyes  exchanging  glances  as  freely  as  they  had 
exchanged  remarks  concerning  him.  A  gay, 
careless  lot  they  were,  let  loose  from  the  environ- 
ments of  city  life  to  run  wild  for  a  season  over  the 
sands,  and  dabble  in  the  waves  of  the  sea  shore. 
Forward,  audacious,  with  the  audacity  of  youth 
that  means  no  harm. 

A  pleasant,  cheery  dining-room,  with  the 
glimpses  of  the  close  green  through  the  windows, 
and  a  good  lunch  with  the  vis-a-vis  of  a  bright, 
piquant  face,  running  over  with  mischief,  is  apt 
to  make  life  seem  like  a  thing  worth  living  to  a 
man,  and  this  one  whom  the  girl  called  Fra 
Lippo,  seemed  to  enjoy  it. 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  hum  and  the  chatter  of 
people  passing  in  and  out  a  woman' s  figure  caught 
his  eye  as  it  moved  slowly  toward  him  down  the 
dining-room — a  form  in  white  with  a  scarf  over 
her  arm. 

"Ah!  a  Francesca,"  he  thought,  as  the  slim, 
girlish  figure  in  dead  white  stood  out  in  the  midst 
of  the  gay  stripes  and  bright  gowns.  But  as  she 
came  closer  the  face  did  not  look  so  girlish  as  the 
figure.  The  eyes  had  in  them  a  tinge  of  sadness, 


]06  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

as  if  of  knowledge,  and  yet  something  of  the 
wistf  illness  of  a  child. 

Was  it  that  wistf ulness  that  drew  his  eyes  to 
hers?  he  could  scarcely  tell.  But  whatever  the 
attraction  was,  his  attention  seemed  to  have  some 
mesmeric  effect  on  the  lady.  She  glanced  toward 
him,  casually,  and  the  next  instant  her  eyes 
widened  just  a  little,  her  lips  parted  as  one  who 
would  say  "You?" 

And  before  he  could  assure  himself  that  he  was 
really  the  object  of  that  subtle  recognition,  her 
eyes  dropped,  she  turned  deliberately  to  a  side 
table,  and  a  view  of  a  clear-cut  profile  and  eyes 
never  turned  toward  himself  was  all  he  could  see 
in  the  mirror  opposite  him — one  in  which  he  did 
not  dare  look  too  often,  because  of  at  least  one 
pair  of  girlish  eyes  that  had  noticed  that  ex- 
changed glance  and  was  on  the  alert. 

"  She's  prettier  than  ever  to-day,  isn't  she?" 
whispered  one  of  the  girls,  and  he  pricked  up  his 
ears  thinking  to  hear  her  name. 

"  Oh,  she  is  too  white  for  a  live  woman,"  said 
another;  "  with  that  bronze  hair  she  needs 
color." 

"Well,  she  isn't  afraid  of  the  tan,  anyway," 
said  a  third,  "for  we  met  her  on  the  bay  alone 
this  morning,  rowing  without  gloves,  and  only  a 
Tam-o'-Shanter  on  her  head,  and  you  know  how 
little  they  keep  the  sun  off." 

"And  she  can  row,  too.  Harry  Canord,  who 
was  with  us,  watched  her  through  a  glass  until 
she  landed,  and  he  raved  over  her  figure." 


GALEED.  107 

"  Ma  says  it  looks  masculine  for  a  woman  to  go 
out  like  that  in  a  boat  alone." 

"But  she  is  not  masculine;  her  voice  is  the 
softest  contralto." 

"But  she  goes  everywhere  alone." 

"  Well,  she  hasn't  been  here  long,  and  doesn't 
seem  to  know  people;  but  that  should  not  make 
her  unfeminine.  I'm  in  love  with  her." 

And  mentally  Alison  jotted  down  the  last 
speaker  in  his  whitest  book  of  memory,  for  the 
sake  of  the  pure  profile  of  unchangeable  Greek 
outline. 

The  girls,  in  their  new  subject,  seemed  to  have 
thoroughly  forgotten  the  mischief  that  had  sent 
them  to  the  stranger's  table,  barring  out  Laura, 
who  had  to  sit  demurely  beside  an  elderly  aunt 
and  watch  her  chums  devour  cold  chicken  at  the 
table,  with  her  interesting  specimen  of  melancholy, 
a  melancholy  that  she  must  have  concluded 
originated  from  hunger,  as  she  was  disillusioned 
by  seeing  him  eat  like  a  ploughman,  his  eyes 
gaining  an  amused  gleam  as  the  girls  chattered 
on,  never  hesitating  at  personalities,  each  raven- 
ous from  the  salt  air,  and  regretting  that  it  was 
not  dinner,  because  of  some  confections  and  fruits 
that  were  a  feature  of  the  dessert. 

The  woman  in  white — he  had  already  christened 
her — left  the  lunch-room  early,  and  he  sauntered 
out  after  as  soon  as  he  could  in  any  decency. 
Why  did  she  look  at  him  like  that?  She  had 
aroused  his  curiosity,  and  then  vanished.  There 
were  plenty  of  white  dresses  to  be  seen  on  people 


IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

both  thin  and  fat,  but  no  Francesca.  And  passing 
the  open  window  he  noticed  that  the  girl  Laura 
had  joined  her  companions,  and  taken  his  place 
at  the  table,  where  they  laughed  and  gossiped, 
evidently  discussing  himself  and  his  unsenti- 
mental appetite. 

A  little  later  a  servant  entered,  carrying  to  their 
table  a  great  dish  of  fruit  and  confectionery,  over 
which  he  would  answer  no  questions.  "For  the 
young  ladies,"  that  was  all  he  knew.  And  one  of 
the  party  found  a  card  among  the  candies,  there 
was  a  little  shriek  of  horror,  a  moment  of  sus- 
pense, and  then,  an  awe-struck  whisper,  '•''From 
Fra  Lippo!" 

"  Oh,  he  must  have  heard;  we  were  so  near  the 
window." 

"  How  mean  of  him  to  listen." 

"  How  sweet  and  forgiving  to  send  the  candies." 

"Just  my  favorites." 

"  Say,  girls,  don't  tell  Harry." 

"  Do  you  think  us  silly  enough  for  that?  He's 
a  regular  darling!" 

"  Who?    Harry  or  the  other  one?" 

"  Why,  Fra  Lippo  of  course." 

And  so  the  lunch  ended,  and  the  new-comer 
sauntered  around  the  village  streets,  putting  in 
the  time  carelessly,  aimlessly,  while  waiting  the 
boat  that  was  to  take  him  next  day  to  the  other 
end  of  the  island. 

He  went  out  along  the  street  that  crosses  the 
little  bridge  where  the  wild  roses  grow,  and  the 
water  falls  in  a  foam  below  over  the  stones;  out 


GALEED.  109 

along  the  road  where  vines  of  the  wood  drape  the 
trees  and  form  almost  an  arbor  until  at  the  end  of 
the  wild  hedge,  an  old  mill  stands,  gray  and  dusty, 
near  the  shore,  and  the  bath  houses  away  along 
the  sand  where  the  people  float  and  splash 
through  the  days  of  the  summer. 

And  he,  sitting  on  the  grass  by  the  mill-race, 
watching  the  old  miller  throw  corn  to  the  ducks 
in  the  clear,  brown  water,  forgot  the  Francesca 
who  had  puzzled  him;  forgot  the  chatter  of  the 
girls  who  had  amused  him,  and  drifted  into  mem- 
ories of  the  past,  and  air  castles  of  the  future — so 
close  those  two  are,  and  so  easily  conjured  up  by 
the  drowsy  hum  of  an  early  summer  day.  But 
into  even  Eden  crept  the  serpent,  and  across  the 
pastoral  air  of  the  fields,  and  the  hills,  and  the 
fragrance  of  apple  blossoms,  the  laugh  of  a  woman 
came  to  him — one  that  made  him  stir  uneasily  as 
he  lay  there  on  the  grass.  It  struck  him  with  the 
memory  of  a  thing  to  which  he  had  once  given  the 
name  of  love,  and  which  he  knew  now  was  but  a 
shell  without  soul. 

But  the  shells  are  shifted  so  by  the  tides  of  life, 
and  ever  and  anon  we  stumble  across  them,  and 
look  at  them  a  little  wonderingly  to  think  they  still 
exist.  But  we  do  not  care  to  take  in  our  hands 
the  thing  we  once  kissed  into  life,  we  only  turn 
our  heads  away  with  the  regret  that  murmurs  the 
11  has  been;"  that  echoes  ever  through  such  shells 
of  the  past  passion  of  the  sea  deeps. 

And  Alison  stirred  uneasily  that  day  in  the 
grasses  when  he  heard  that  woman's  laugh.  At 


110  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

the  latter  end  of  a  dinner,  when  the  time  has  come 
for  the  fruits  and  dessert,  one  wonders,  with  a 
little  feeling  of  distaste,  at  an  appetite  for  soup, 
which,  in  the  beginning,  we  found  delightful,  but 
which  one  has  outgrown,  for  the  time. 

Something  like  that  thought  came  to  him  as  he 
lay  there,  and  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  to 
keep  out  the  sun — sunlight  is  so  searching,  and 
men's  souls  shrink  from  the  truth  of  it  some- 
times— and  the  echo  of  that  laugh  had  sent  back 
a  reflection  that  made  him  a  little  tired  at  heart. 

The  steps  of  a  party  came  over  the  beach  and 
the  long  grass  toward  him,  and  one  of  them,  the 
most  airy  of  the  lot,  stopped  suddenly  at  the  edge 
of  the  road  with  a  little  cry  of  amazement  at  the 
long  limbs  and  hidden  face  there  on  the  sward. 
There  are,  of  course,  so  many  long  limbs  in  the 
world;  but  when  one  has  known  any  one  pair  so 
well  they  are  likely  to  carry  a  sense  of  individ- 
uality, no  matter  what  strange  garb  encases  them. 
And  a  moment's  glimpse  seemed  to  satisfy  the 
pert,  quick-stepping  creature,  for  she  motioned 
the  others — two  women  and  three  men  —  to 
silence. 

"Go  on  to  the  hotel  without  me,  I  know  him 
—no,"  as  they  attempted  to  dissuade  her,  "I'll 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  know  him,  long,  oh  so 
long  ago;  so  it  is  no  new  affair,  those  are  all  you 
have  need  to  be  jealous  of,  you  goose!  Go  along, 
do!" 

And  then  she  tip-toed  over  the  sward,  and  lift- 
ing the  hat  forced  him  to  look  up  into  her  eyes— 


GALEED.  Ill 

eyes  as  blue  as  the  seas  from  which  the  empty 
shells  are  dashed. 

"  I  have  found  you,"  she  said,  dropping  down 
beside  him,  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Oh  don't 
look  vexed,  I  don't  want  you.  I  know  when 
I'm  given  the  go-by,  and  you  did  it  royally, 
Alison.  Yes,  you  did,  and  I  had  a  glorious  time 
on  the  morning  you  left  me,  and  I'm  glad  to 
shake  hands  and  say  how  are  you.  Come,  let  by- 
gones be  by-gones." 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  a  little  lamely.  "How 
well  you  are  looking,  Hettie.  Are  you  stopping 
here  at  the  Bay?" 

"If  I  am,  you  mean  that  you  will  leave,  do 
you?"  she  asked,  bluntly.  "No,  I've  only  come 
over  from  Shelter  Island  for  a  few  days.  There 
is  a  party  of  us;  you  may  know  some  of  the  men. 
Come  around  to  the  hotel  this  evening,  will 
you?" 

"I — I  think  not,"  he  answered,  even  while  he 
lay  there  thinking  what  an  alluring  picture  she 
made  in  the  blue  and  pink  of  her  boating  dress, 
and  the  face  like  a  flower — a  very  knowing  blos- 
som of  a  nineteenth  century  summer;  one  that 
knew  the  value  of  rich  loam  in  the  shape  of  coins 
from  the  mint.  A  clever  little  creature,  who  had 
been  attractive  to  him  once  through  her  very 
frankness  that  made  no  pretenses  of  innocence, 
and  so,  perforce,  left  a  man  well  satisfied  with 
himself,  with  no  remorse  for  a  spoiled  life,  or  for 
helping  her  down  a  single  step  on  life's  ladder.. 
She  never  had  seemed  to  realize  that  she  had  been 


112  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

helped  down,  and  any  man  who  has  gone  throngh 
the  alternate  fits  of  ecstacy  and  remorse  of  a  pas- 
sion that  enjoys  and  repents,  can  tell  what  a  rest 
a  companionship  is  over  which  he  need  not  waste 
regrets  except  for  lost  time. 

But  sitting  there  looking  at  her  he  thought 
again  of  the  soup  that  we  vote  distasteful  at  the 
end  of  a  dinner. 

"All  right,"  she  said  cheerily,  at  his  refusal 
to  join  her  party,  "I  know  you  never  did  care 
much  for  crowds.  Who  is  with  you  here?  no 
one!  that's  all  wrong.  You  look  lonesome." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said,  rather  hastily,  "I  am 
working  these  days,  writing.  No  more  time  for 
the  careless  days  and  nights  when — when  we 
knew  each  other." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  easily,  "I  hear  you  are  going 
in  for  the  correct  thing  and  matrimony;  when  am 
I  to  congratulate  you? " 

"  If  you  mean  my  marriage,  not  for  some  time," 
he  said,  a  little  irritated  at  having  to  discuss  this 
question  with  this  woman;  and  yet,  how  much 
he  had  shared  his  time  with  this  woman,  in  a  past 
that  was  not  so  very  far  away. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  at  all,"  she  continued, 
reflectively.  ' '  I  think  it  is  a  mistake — marriage. 
It  ties  one  too  tight.  Leave  it  alone,  Alison,  you 
are  too  good  a  fellow  to  be  spoiled." 

"  Thanks,  but  as  the  advice  is  a  little  late,  sup- 
pose we  change  the  subject;  who  are  you  with, 
here?" 

She  looked  at  him  slyly  from  under  her  long 


GALEED.  113 

lashes,  with  vanity  uppermost;  her  thought  was: 
"  Is  he  sorry?  He  did  use  to  be  fond  of  me;  is 
he  jealous,  after  all? "  But  aloud  she  said:  "  with 
some  people  from  Chicago — a  jolly  party — and 
the  gayest  of  times.  Do  come  along." 

She  lounged  toward  him  on  the  grass,  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  very  near  to  his  neck  were  the 
little,-  pink,  soft  fingers.  But  he  lay  there 
unmoved,  smiling  up  at  her  quizzically,  but 
shaking  his  head  ever  so  slightly.  "Get  thee 
behind  me,  Satan,"  he  quoted,  even  while  his  hand 
touched  those  little  fingers;  was  it  to  clasp  them 
closer?  it  no  doubt  looked  so,  but  in  reality  it  was 
to  lift  the  hand  firmly  from  its  resting-place  and 
lay  it  good-naturedly  on  her  own  knee. 

"  It  looks  better  there,"  he  remarked,  "espe- 
cially as  this  is  an  out-door  scene  and  audiences 
are  likely  things." 

"Were  you  always  so  afraid  of  audiences?"  she 
half  pouted;  and  then  again  the  fair  pink  face 
was  dropped  low  over  his  own;  "Then  why  not 
come  where  there  is  no  one  about?  " 

She  never  was  answered,  for  as  he  rose  on  his 
elbow  to  speak,  he  saw  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
pink  and  blue  nymph,  a  figure  that  had  evidently 
been  sitting  by  the  old  mill  but  a  short  distance 
away.  A  slim  figure  in  white  with  a  garden  hat 
on  its  head,  a  sketch-book  in  its  hand  and  a  great 
deal  of  contemptuous  scorn  in  its  eyes,  as  it  stood 
just  an  instant  gazing  across  at  him,  and  then 
deliberately  turned  and  walked  away. 

js  wrong?"  asked  the  girl  looking 


114  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

at  him.  "  Did  you  see  a  ghost?  Who  is  that 
woman?" 

"I  do  not  know  who  she  is,"  he  answered 
half  sulkily. 

"  Come  now,  be  honest." 

"  I  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  reiterated,  with  a 
decision  akin  to  anger.  "I  do  not  even  know 
her  name.  But  as  I  remarked  before,  this  is 
not  exactly  the  place  for  scenes.  I  propose  we 
move." 

He  rose  without  waiting  for  any  remark  and 
stalked  out  toward  the  sandy  road,  the  girl  fol- 
lowing him,  a  little  crest-fallen,  a  little  sulky. 
Up  along  the  path  toward  an  orchard  the  white 
figure  was  moving  steadily,  unconscious  that  a 
few  leaves  from  the  portfolio  had  dropped  on  the 
grass  by  the  bars,  and  lay  there  tremulous  in  the 
sea  breeze.  Alison  crossed  the  road  and  picked 
them  up;  the  first  was  a  pencil  sketch  of  the  old 
mill,  the  second  was  a  half -finished  one  of  Hettie's 
form  as  she  bent  toward  him,  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  it  might  even  be  thought  to  be  around 
his  neck,  for  his  face  could  not  be  seen  from  the 
artist's  point  of  view,  only  the  long  limbs  on 
the  sward,  and  an  elbow  showing  past  the  curve 
of  the  girl's  waist.  A  pair  of  lovers  any  one 
would  have  thought  them,  as  no  doubt  the  artist 
had.  But  it  was  only  when  she  saw  his  face 
that  she  had  risen  indignant. 

' '  What  the  deuce  does  she  mean  by  making  a 
fellow  feel  uncomfortable  with  such  looks  and 
such  a  manner?"  he  thought,  grumpily,  "why 


GALEED.  115 

should  she  look  so  surprised?  I've  no  doubt  she 
stumbles  over  many  such  scenes  at  the  Bay." 

Then  he  turned  over  the  last  slip  of  paper. 
It  was  not  a  sketch,  but  a  letter,  the  heading 
was  that  of  a  publishing  house,  one  he  knew 
well. 

And  the  address  on  it  was  Judith  Holmes. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  rest  of  the  day  was  not 
a  comfortable  one  to  Dale  Alison.  All  the  soft 
beauty  of  the  day  was  gone;  every  nook,  every 
cranny  was  filled  with  some  phantom  of  fancy,  all 
laughing  idiotically  at  the  horrible  incongruity 
of  that  woman's  hopes  of  him,  of  his  own  half 
promises  to  her,  and  then  the  scene  she  had  wit- 
nessed! For  Hettie  and  her  party  had  no  doubt 
made  themselves  conspicuous  features  during 
their  stay  at  the  Bay,  and  there  could  not  be 
much  doubt  of  their  class.  The  heat  of  shame 
tingled  through  his  blood  as  he  remembered  sen- 
tences in  those  letters  that  had  expressed  so  much 
faith  in  his  ideas,  in  his  work.  How  vividly  they 
stood  out  in  his  mind!  How  they  would  recur 
again  and  again  as  he  lay  in  his  room  at  the 
hotel,  staring  rather  vacantly  at  the  wall-paper, 
on  which  were  grotesque  Chinese  figures  that 
grinned  back  at  him  like  little  demons. 

The  look  in  her  eyes  was  one  he  did  not  care  to 


116  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

remember;  it  made  him  forget  how  fine  tke  eyes 
were.  All  at  once  he  seemed  placed  on  too  low  a 
plane  for  either  admiration  or  criticism  of  her 
personality.  He  had  thought  of  her  for  so  long, 
wondering  what  she  was  like;  how  those  kind 
words  of  her  letters  would  sound  if  she  gave  voice 
to  them.  And  now  he  knew  that  she  thought  of 
him  with  such  disgust,  with  such  disappointment 
that  those  kind  letters,  those  helpful  words  would 
never  come  to  him  again. 

That  thought  brought  him  to  his  feet  like  a 
shot.  All  his  new  ambitions  that  had  been 
thronging  close  to  him  of  late  seemed  tinged  with 
hopelessness  since  the  inspiration  of  them  had 
slipped  out  of  reach.  A  flash  of  light  into  some 
inner  soul  thrilled  him  with  the  knowledge  that 
his  energies  had  been  bent  by  that  woman's  faith, 
not  by  his  own  needs,  and  that  the  mental  sup- 
port given  him  had  been  stronger  than  he  had 
guessed  until  it  was  withdrawn. 

"What  will  it  matter,  after  all?"  he  tried  to 
reason  in  half -irritable  fashion,  as  he  tramped 
from  one  window  to  another,  aimlessly  looking 
out  on  moving  forms,  his  eyes  searching  instinct- 
ively for  one  face  ;  "it  will  all  be  forgotten  this 
time  next  year — the  woman  and  her  influence." 

So  he  lied  to  himself,  as  men  will,  trying  to 
reason  himself  out  of  the  burning  embarrassment, 
the  horrible  incongruity  the  day  had  given  birth 
to.  But  with  all  the  life  in  him  he  knew  that  he 
longed  to  keep  that  influence  and  regain  that 
regard, 


GALEED. 

The  sheets  from  the  portfolio  lay  on  the  table 
by  his  hat.  He  picked  them  up,  glancing  at  the 
figure  of  himself  half  hidden  by  Hettie's  airy 
draperies. 

"  Curse  the  luck!" 

It  is  quite  an  orthodox  prayer  on  lips  mascu- 
line, I  believe,  if  luck  grows  contrary  on  their 
hands,  and  how  natural  to  shift  the  responsibili- 
ties of  life  unto  the  irresponsible  ones  of  Fate. 
The  ill-luck  was  not  that  he  should  have  met 
Mrs.  Holmes  in  the  rural  surroundings  of  a 
country  road  and  a  flour  mill,  but  that  his  life 
had  known  companionship  of  which  he  was 
ashamed. 

"This  sort  of  thing  won't  do,"  he  reasoned, 
finally;  "those  things  must  be  returned  to  her, 
of  course." 

After  reaching  that  conclusion,  the  question 
was  to  determine  how  they  should  be  returned, 
personally  or  by  messenger.  The  latter  would 
entail  less  embarrassment,  but  after  the  exchange 
of  thought  that  had  been  between  them,  how 
could  their  acquaintance  be  let  end  so.  A  protest 
against  that  surged  through  his  thoughts.  "And 
I  owe  her  so  much,  so  much,"  he  muttered,  feel- 
ing his  debt,  and  that  he  had  paid  her  by  lowering 
her  faith  in  that  which  she  wanted  to  believe.  A 
man  of  the  world?  Yes,  so  he  was  thought,  but 
the  next  morning  he  felt  more  like  a  novice 
making  his  first  independent  call  on  a  lady,  as  he 
left  his  room  to  return  the  tell-tale  bits  of  paper 
to  their  owner,  whose  hand  he  had  longed  so 


118  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

often  to  clasp,  and  he  wondered  now  if  she  would 
say  even  "How  do  you  do." 

As  for  the  lady  herself,  she  smiled  at  the  white 
card  with  the  signature  she  had  learned  to  know 
so  well. 

"LI  will  see  him,"  she  said,  and  when  alone 
she  again  looked  curiously  at  the  signature. 

"  I  do  not  think  there  can  be  danger  in  seeing 
him,  now,"  she  debated,  cynically,  and  then  she 
leaned  back,  laughing  a  little,  "Oh,  my  useless 
sacrifice  to  duty  and  ideals!"  she  breathed,  with 
sarcastic  fervor,  "and,  oh,  my  last  remnant  of 
faith  in  the  noble  animal — man.  I  ended  the  cor- 
respondence because  it  was  growing  so  much  too 
interesting.  But — yes,  I  think  I  can  see  him  now 
without  danger  to  my  susceptible  heart." 

And  Alison,  waiting  with  an  uncertain  feeling 
in  the  little  reception  room,  saw  her  draw  aside 
the  curtains,  and  noticed  that  little  upward  curve 
of  the  corners  of  her  mouth — the  face  not  at  all 
the  scornful  one  of  yesterday.  That  smile  made 
him  feel  almost  as  uncomfortable  as  the  disdain. 
It  took  from  him  in  an  instant  all  the  feeling  of 
penitence,  and  he  arose  feeling  much  more  assured 
of  his  self-possession.  No,  he  need  not  be  afraid 
of  his  reception,  for  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Alison — at  last,"  were  the  smiling,  cour- 
teous, and  provocative  words  he  heard  first  from 
her  lips.  They  were  so  carelessly  pleasant,  they 
had  such  an  entire  disregard  of  any  former  meet- 
ing, that  the  coolness  of  it  took  him  a  little  aback. 

"I  am  most  happy  that  you  allow  it  to  be  at 


GALEED.  119 

last,"  he  said,  holding  her  hand  an  instant,  "I 
have  wanted  to  know  you  personally  for  so 
long." 

"  So  long?"  she  repeated,  smilingly,  "  why  you 
have  not  known  of  my  existence  a  year." 

"But  one  can  live  so  much  in  a  year  some- 
times," he  said,  and  wished  while  he  did  so  that 
she  would  drop  that  coolly  smiling  way  of  hers, 
and  look  a  little  more  like  the  Francesca  of  yes- 
terday. It  is  so  annoying  to  one's  vanity  to  be 
treated  as  a  joke. 

"Can  one?"  she  queried,  in  answer  to  that 
remark  of  his.  "  Yes,  I  think  you  are  right,  only 
every  year  gets  shorter  as  we  grow  old." 

"I  imagined  it  was  happiness,  not  age,  that 
made  the  years  short." 

"lean  not  agree  with  you  from  experience," 
she  returned,  "happiness  has  not  as  yet  short- 
ened them  for  me,  whatever  age  has  done." 

It  was  the  only  sentence  that  had  in  it  a  single 
serious  tone,  and  he  wondered  if  it  was  because 
she  had  known  happiness  so  little.  But  an 
instant  more  and  she  was  chatting  of  the  scene 
visible  through  the  open  window — a  bit  of  green 
bay  and  blue  sky,  mellowed  into  accord  by  the 
sunlight — of  the  many  advantages  of  the  little 
town  as  a  summer  resort. 

"I  have  been  here  only  three  days,"  she  said 
in  answer  to  his  question,  ' '  I  am  waiting  for  some 
friends  to  join  me  here.  Lonely?  Oh,  no.  I  am 
never  that.  You  know  I  am  a  worker,  not  one  of 
the  idle  lilies  of  the  field,  and  my  work  is  seldom 


120  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

laid  aside  in  my  holidays;  and  for  diversion,  I 
walk  and  row,  and — sketch  sometimes." 

There  was  just  a  trifle  of  hesitation  in  this  last 
remark,  he  could  not  tell  if  it  was  through  embar- 
rassment or  roguishness,  but  glancing  at  her 
she  looked  so  perfectly  calm  that  it  irritated  him 
into  saying,  bluntly,  "I  never  expected  to  meet 
you  like  this."  "Like  this?"  with  a  slight  rise 
of  dark  brows.  ' '  I  mean  with  this — this  sort  of  an 
atmosphere.  It — pardon  my  presumption — it  is 
not  that  of  our  correspondence." 

"No,"  with  an  inflection  that  matched  the  eye- 
brows; "but  it  is  all  different,  you  know;  those  let- 
ters were,  I  think,  from  the  mind  of  each  to  the  art 
of  each.  There  was  no  question  of  personalities. 
All  that  is  changed  when  we  meet  people.  Before 
we  did  not  seem  like  real  people,  we  were  only 
ideas." 

"And  now  that  you  know  me,  I  am  not  the  sort 
of  a  person  with  whom  you  care  to  exchange  ideas!' ' 

There  was  a  sort  of  doggedness  in  his  persist- 
ence to  know  the  worst,  and  something  akin  to  it 
came  when  she  said  coolly: 

"  But  I  can  not  say  that  I  know  you  yet,  Mr. 
Alison." 

For  a  little  there  was  silence.  He  knew  he 
deserved  it,  yet  felt  himself  impelled  to  a  contin- 
uance of  that  to  which  she  had  virtually  given  a 
veto. 

"A  month  ago  you  knew  me— in  part,"  he 
blundered,  "  only  you  have  forgotten." 

"  I  seldom  forget,"  she  answered  quietly;  ' '  but 


GALEED.  121 

a  month  ago  is  a  month  ago,  and  our  knowledge 
of  each  other  by  letter  was  really  but  a  one-sided 
affair;  we  each,  I  think,  gave  to  the  other  an 
impression  of  what  we  thought  we  were.  That 
is,  I  think,  what  letters  amount  to  generally.  But 
when  we  meet  personally,  we  must  begin  all  over 
again  in  the  conventional  way,  seeing  each  other 
with  one's  own  vision,  and  it  makes  a  difference 
— sometimes." 

She  laughed  slightly  at  the  last  sentence. 
But  he  could  not  even  smile  with  her,  he  only 
said: 

"  You  are  so  much  disappointed  in  me? " 

"  How  persistent  the  manisf '  she  thought;  "it 
would  be  a  bore,  but  that  his  humility  is  so  charm- 
ingly awkward,  it  fits  him  so  ill,"  but  aloud,  she 
said: 

"  No,  I  could  not  well  be  that,  your  late  work 
is  good,  I  think,  very  good.  You  are  writing 
with  a  purpose  now,  one  I  hope  will  gain  the 
end  you  have  in  view,  whatever  it  is." 

There  came  to  him  the  impulse  to  tell  her  the 
thoughts  he  had  since  he  saw  her  yesterday,  the 
certainty  that  the  end  in  view  was,  in  a  great 
part,  her  approval,  that  without  her  faith  his 
ambition  staggered,  and  felt  itself  without  a  goal. 
And  then  he  could  have  laughed  aloud  at  an 
impulse  so  absurd  as  he  looked  at  her  face  so 
carelessly  non-committal,  and  knew  that  all  his 
hopes  of  helpful  friendship  were  ended  through 
the  level  glances  she  gave  him,  and  her  refusal  to 
meet  him  on  the  footing  their  letters  had  built. 


122  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

He  seemed  in  the  midst  of  a  chaotic  wreck  of 
thought,  he  felt  his  veins  tingling,  as  with  a 
scourge,  while  he  sat  there.  A  scourge  plaited 
of  reeds,  through  which  a  soulless  passion  had 
whistled  in  a  season  so  dead;  they  come  back 
always  in  some  form,  these  passions,  and  what- 
ever music  their  song  is  set  to,  the  refrain  is 
always — regret. 

"We  seem  to  have  only  my  own  work  to  dis- 
cuss," he  said,  at  last,  "but  what  of  yours,  are 
you  doing  any  now? " 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  thinking  wickedly 
in  woman  fashion,  "Yes,  it  will  serve  him  right," 
and  rang  a  little  bell,  that  was  answered  by  an  old 
colored  woman,  who  courtsied  when  she  saw  the 
stranger,  and  asked,  "Whahtis,  Miss  Jude?" 

"  Bring  me  the  small,  blue  portfolio,  Lisa,  it  is 
on  the  table  in  my  room,"  she  said,  with  more 
tenderness  of  tone  and  glance  than  she  had  seemed 
to  possess;  and  wrhen  it  was  brought,  she  turned 
over  the  loose  sheets  until  she  found  an  orna- 
mental heading  of  shells  and  sea-weed  that  out- 
lined the  word  "  Mizpah."  She  handed  it  to  him 
in  silence. 

"  My  poem,"  he  said,  in  wondering,  half -shamed 
surprise,  "  I — I  did  not  think  of  publishing 
that." 

"No?  But  that  need  not  deter  one  from 
making  sketches  if  there  are  pictures  in  a  bit  of 
writing.  I  have  often  done  that  for  practice,  and 
I  did  so  with  this." 

"  It  is  not  worth  such  exquisite  work,"  he  said 


GALEED.  123 

quietly,  "I  sent  it  with  those  manuscripts,  but 
never  thought  it  worth  publication." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  she  said,  in  an  argu- 
mentative manner,  "  I  do  not  believe  you  know  it, 
though  you  did  write  it.  Have  you  ever  read  it 
aloud?" 

"No,  I  never  have,"  he  answered,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"Then,  of  course,  you  do  not  know  it,"  she 
decided,  "  Here  it  is,  read  it  aloud  and  see  if  you 
don't  make  its  acquaintance  over  again." 

"Why,  what  difference — " 

"I  am  not  sure  what  it  is,  the  literary  merit  of 
it  may  not  be  high;  you  seem  to  judge  it  from  that 
standpoint,  but  there  was  something  I  liked  in  it 
when  read  aloud." 

"  You  might  help  me  to  see  its  beauties,  if  you 
would  not  mind  reading  it  to  me." 

It  was  a  bold  sally  after  the  rebuffs  he  had  met. 
He  really  did  not  care  much  about  the  article, 
scarcely  remembering  any  thoughts  in  it.  But 
the  desire  for  any  subject  of  conversation  in  which 
there  would  be  no  jarring  element  made  him  des- 
perate. 

She  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  in  surprise, 
surprise  that  was  quickly  hidden,  however,  as  she 
said,  in  a  most  matter-of-fact  way, "  Oh,  certainly, 
I  may  not  read  well,  but  it  possibly  will  help  give 
you  the  impression  I  spoke  of,  and  help  you  to 
believe  it  worth  my  sketches." 

He  nodded  understandingly,  without  speaking, 
and  turned  his  eyes  out  toward  the  sea,  instead  of 


124  IN"  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

toward  her  face,  as  she  read,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
his  bit  of  verse: 

"  Mizpahl  here  our  lives  drift  wider  asunder, 
Why?  or  whence?  ah  me,  the  vain  endeavor 
Of  sad  lips  to  answer  what  the  heart  asks! 
Close  through  stormy  weather  have  our  hands  clasped, 
And  our  life-boat  rode  the  waves  in  laughter; 
Naught  to  us  the  storms — we  had  each  other! 
And  glad  eyes  kept  darkness  far  beyond  us. 
Now  the  waves  seem  lulled  to  rest  forever. 
And  life's  sea  in  smoothest  tones  invites  us; 
On  we  move — but,  ah,  my  friend,  the  pity! 
Two  boats  now  drift  outward  to  the  ocean, 
And  the  water,  clear  as  crystal,  mirrors 
Two  tired  faces  and  sad  eyes  that  see  not; 
Back  we  dare  not  look,  for  there  is  floating 
In  our  wake  a  corpse,  the  tiling  that  lightened 
All  our  lives  is  lifeless;  and  love's  music 
Only  comes  to  listening  ears  in  echoes 
Of  a  dear,  dead  happiness.     Above  us 
Brassy  skies  are  burning;  outward  drift  we, 
With  no  hope  of  green  isles  in  our  future. 
Coral  reefs  there  may  be,  and  false  beacons 
Oft  lure  tired  lives.    What  is,  is  written, 
Here  we  raise  our  monument,  moan  '  Mizpah,' 
And  drift  down,  alone,  life's  unknown  vistas." 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  little  after  she  ceased 
reading.  He  had  forgotten  what  prompted  that 
bit  of  verse;  he  rather  thought  it  the  outgrowth 
of  a  fancy  he  had  for  trying  different  construc- 
tions of  verse,  and  the  theme  had  been  a  sort  of 
chance  affair.  But  hearing  it  read  in  those  warm, 
deep  tones,  gave  it  a  new  meaning  to  him. 

"It  is  musical,"  he  agreed;  "yes,  when  you 
read  it;  and  I  had  thought  it  nothing — only  a 
fragment." 


GALEED.  125 

"It  suggested  the  sketches  at  any  rate,"  she 
answered,  and  watched  him  as  he  took  up  the 
larger  drawing,  two  shallops  drifted  apart  by  the 
winds  of  the  sea,  the  occupants — a  man  and  a 
woman — reaching  hands  longingly  toward  each 
other,  all  the  mistiness  of  the  horizon  forming  a 
background  for  the  intense  faces  turned  each  to 
each. 

"It  is  beautiful,"  he  said,  earnestly. 

"Which,  the  poem  or  the  sketch?"  she  asked 
as  curiously  as  though  she  had  not  seen  his  eyes 
grow  pleased  over  her  work. 

"Your  sketch,  you  know  I  mean  that,"  and 
his  tone  was  slightly  impatient.  It  vexed  him 
to  hear  her  speak  to  him  in  a  superficial  way, 
when  through  all  her  work  there  breathed  ear- 
nestness. It  was  as  if  she  deemed  him  too  far  below 
comprehension  of  the  earnestness  of  life  or 
expression.  "The  illustrations  might  sell  the 
poem,  but  without  it,  my  fragment  of  verse  would 
never  be  noticed." 

"Well,"  she  said,  half  jestingly,  "when  you 
find  yourself  longing  for  the  fame  of  Poesy,  send 
to  me  for  the  sketches  and  verse." 

"  I  may  take  you  at  your  word  sometime,"  he 
answered,  "you  have  given  me  an  interest  in  the 
lines  I  had  almost  forgotten;  when  I  send  for 
them,  remember  the  promise." 

Long  after  they  both  remembered  that  careless- 
ness of  conversation,  both  so  unconscious  of  the 
significance  of  the  poem  that  was  in  part  a 
prophecy. 


126  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAIXS. 

But  just  then  the  verse  and  the  sketch  had 
brought  a  tinge  of  earnestness  into  their  little 
scene  that  Mrs.  Holmes  hastened  to  drive  into 
the  background  by  asking  of  the  theatres,  asking 
what  was  new,  discussing  what  was  old. 

"I  have  seen  so  little,  my  home  has  been 
mostly  in  the  country,"  she  said,  appealing  to 
his  judgment  in  some  matter  of  metropolitan  life. 

"  And  you  like  the  repose  of  it  best,"  he  asked, 
hoping  to  find  a  theme  congenial. 

"  Y-e-s,"  in  a  hesitating  way,  "that  is,  in  the 
season  of  green  leaves.  But  repose  so  often 
means  monotony.  It  is  delightful  in  pictures 
and  poems  of  course.  But  elevated  roads  are  so 
convenient." 

And  in  despair  he  gave  up,  and  bade  her  good- 
morning,  feeling  almost  as  if  the  day  had  been  a 
failure. 

"  May  I  come  to  see  you  again,  before  I  leave?" 
he  asked,  at  parting. 

And  again  she  thought,  ''how  persistent  the 
man  is;"  but  said,  "certainly,  I  would  be  glad 
to  have  you  meet  my  friends,  the  Winans,  a 
lovely  old-young  couple,  my  closest  friends.  If 
your  other  duties  will  allow  you  time,  we  should 
like  to  have  you  to  dinner  with  us  to-morrow." 

He  could  see  that  he  was  asked  to  meet  her 
friends,  not  herself.  But  he  said,  concisely: 

"I  have  no  duties  here,  few  anywhere,  and  I 
will  come,"  and  then  he  held  out  his  hand.  It 
seemed  out  of  tune  with  all  his  former  fancies  to 
leave  her  less  cordially. 


GALEED.  127 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  stubbornly,  "how 
much  you  have  helped  me  through  those  letters. 
I — I  tell  you  this  because  I — well,  it  seems  as  if 
some  way  our  acquaintance  has  a  tone  so  different 
from  our  correspondence,  and  it  is  to  me  a  regret. 
Your  influence — " 

"My  influence!"  she  broke  in  softly,  ironically; 
"  I  rather  think  the  imagination  that  is  so  admir- 
able in  your  work  is  rather  strained  when  applied 
to  my  influence.  Do  not  you?"  and  she  glanced 
at  him  amusedly. 

"I  do  not;  it  is  not  imagination.  The  lack  of 
that  most  pleasant  friendship  is  more  than  a 
regret,  it  is  a  loss.  I  would  like  you  to  believe  I 
am  in  earnest." 

And  then  he  was  gone.  She  dropped  into 
a  chair  by  the  window,  smiling  still.  That 
quizzical  gleam  in  her  eyes  was  the  last  he  had 
seen  of  her,  and  it  had  made  him  blunder  a 
little  over  the  words  that  he  yet  spoke  so  deter- 
minedly. 

And  as  she  sat  there  trying  to  make  herself 
believe  that  she  cared  only  to  laugh,  she  saw  him 
pass  out  across  the  lawn,  his  hat  pulled  rather 
low  over  his  eyes.  As  she  watched  the  tall  figure 
saunter  down  toward  the  beach,  her  lips  curled 
a  little,  but  softened  to  whisper: 

"  It  is  a  pity;  I  am  sorry;  yes,  it  is  a  pity." 

She  brought  her  drawing  and  went  to  work  at 
the  window,  but  some  way  did  not  make  much 
headway.  Her  eyes  wandered  so  often  down 
toward  the  water.  It  was  not  a  day  for  work, 


128  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

and  she  had  just  determined  to  go  for  a  walk 
when  the  colored  boy  again  appeared. 

"This  for  you,  Mrs.  Holmes,  with  Mr.  Alison's 
compliments." 

This  was  a  large,  flat  envelope,  and  with  it  a 
scribbled  card: 

"I  called  to  return  these,  but  some  way  forgot 
my  errand. — DALE  ALISON." 

These  were  the  words,  and  opening  the  envelope 
she  found  the  lost  letter  and  sketches  of  yester- 
day. She  glanced  at  that  of  the  two  figures,  and 
then  out  on  the  bay  where  a  solitary  boat  was 
foaming  through  the  water  to  a  hazy  shore  of  the 
mainland.  She  even  picked  up  a  glass  and 
watched  through  it  a  coatless  figure  holding  a 
rudder  grimly  in  one  hand  and  a  most  plebeian- 
looking  short  pipe  in  the  other.  She  dropped  the 
glass  with  a  little  laugh. 

"I  wondered  how  we  should  meet,  or  what  we 
should  think  of  each  other  if  we  ever  did.  Well, 
all  things  come  to  those  who  wait.  I  have 
waited.  It  all  seems  like  a  whimsical  bit  of  com- 
edy that  ventures  just  to  the  edge  of  seriousness." 

And  then  the  thoughts  scarcely  seemed  worth 
formation,  for  she  sat  with  half -closed  eyes,  still 
and  lazy  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain.  But  her 
face  in  repose  was  no  longer  cynical;  tired,  almost 
wistful,  were  the  eyes  that  held  in  them  the  ele- 
ments of  tragedy  more  surely  than  the  tinsel  and 
brusquerie  of  comedy. 

And  out  on  the  Sound  the  sky  grew  overcast, 
and  the  wind  rose— the  east  wind  that  moans 


GALEED.  129 

always  because  of  its  bondage  to  tears.  And  into 
the  teeth  of  it  swept  the  little  boat  of  the  man 
who  threw,  at  times,  grim,  backward  glances 
toward  the  southern  shore. 

"Not  nearly  so  romantic  as  her  idea  of  Miz- 
pah,"  he  muttered,  as  he  ducked  for  a  short  tack 
and  drew  in  sail. 

But  some  way,  the  vision  of  those  parted  boats 
would  persist  in  floating  their  shapely  timbers 
over  the  same  waters  that  tossed  his  own  craft 
out — out  from  the  shore  where  she  had  laughed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Three  weeks  later  two  ladies  sat  on  the  shady 
side  of  a  steamer  that  was  plowing  its  way  over 
the  waters  of  the  Sound,  past  Greenport,  up  past 
the  ripple  of  the  Narrows  where  the  waters  meet, 
on  around  the  curves  and  the  cliffs  of  Shelter 
Island,  across  the  mouth  of  Peconic  Bay,  and 
toward  the  old-time  whaling  port  of  Sag  Harbor. 

The  one  lady  was  Alison's  Francesca,  Mrs. 
Holmes.  The  other  was  a  dainty  little  blossom  of 
a  woman,  her  dress  the  gray  of  her  hair.  A 
charming  old  lady,  with  the  instincts  of  a  little 
coquette  peeping  through  the  quaint  daintiness 
of  lace  frills,  caressing  the  shining  patent-leather 
shoe. 

"  You  are  really  not  taking  a  vacation  at  all," 
she  was  saying,  in  a  debating  tone,  to  the  younger 


130  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

woman,  who  only  smiled  at  her.  "  You  have 
been  working  hard  at  your  drawings  six  hours  of 
every  day  since  we  came  to  the  island.  Do  you 
call  that  a  vacation?  You  are  really  not  strong 
enough  to  work  like  that." 

"Do  not  judge  me  by  your  own  fragile  little 
self,"  advised  the  other;  "you  seem  to  imagine 
because  I  am  not  a  stout,  red-cheeked  creature, 
4;hat  I  must  perforce  be  a  weakling.  I  am  sure  I 
rowed  you  two  miles  for  lilies  yesterday,  and 
brought  you  home  without  being  too  much 
exhausted  to  eat  my  own  share  of  supper.  What 
further  proof  do  you  want  of  my  vitality?" 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  nodded  the  little  lady, 
"but  one  of  the  last  things  Lisa  told  me  before 
starting  for  Carolina  was  to  try  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you;  that  you  have  not  been  sleeping  well;  that 
you  are  restless  at  night,  and  nervous,  and— 

"So  that  is  the  cause  of  this  little  lecture,  is 
it?"  queried  the  other;  "Lisa  has  been  foolish 
enough  to  exaggerate  my  restlessness  of  a  few 
nights  into  a  serious  affair  for  your  consideration. 
I  am  rather  glad  the  dear  old  creature  has  gone 
back  to  her  people  for  these  few  weeks;  she  is 
growing  fanciful  in  her  old  age." 

"  Well,  of  course,  she  is  likely  to  be  over  anx- 
ious, since  she  is  so  attached  to  you.  But  she 
must  have  some  foundation  for  those  statements." 

"You  should  not  be  credulous  enough  to  take 
Lisa's  tales  at  her  own  worth,  Mrs.  Winans," 
returned  the  younger  woman; "  Lisa  has  conjured 
up  lock-jaw  for  me  out  of  a  pricked  finger,  and 


GALEED.  131 

brain  fever  out  of  a  headache  as  long  as  I  can 
remember." 

"  But  if  you  are  so  well,  what  is  the  reason  you 
are  not  sleeping?' '  persisted  the  little  lady. 

"  Happiness,  my  dear,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"  Happiness?"  was  the  doubtful  query. 

"Certainly,  a  supreme  content  in  the  mere  fact 
of  existence — a  content  so  overwhelming  that  I  lie 
awake  o'  nights  to  think  of  it." 

The  suggestion  of  the  unexpressed  in  the  last 
speech  was  as  a  wall  over  which  there  seemed  no 
easy  passage.  In  silence  they  sat  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  the  old  lady  dropped  her  hand 
gently  on  the  arm  of  the  other. 

1 '  Don't  worry,  dear, '  •  she  said,  softly,  ' '  you  are 
too  young  to  know  heavy  weights  of  trouble." 

"  Too  young?"  and  the  repetition  had  a  tinge  of 
bitterness;  "is  one  ever  too  young  for  that?  My 
heaviest  troubles  came  four  years  ago.  They  are 
mostly  over  now.  I  am  alone,  and  that  itself  is  a 
boon." 

"  It  seems  unnatural  for  a  young  person  to  look 
on  life  like  that,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Winans;  "  I 
will  never  be  content  until  I  see  your  life  made 
what  woman's  life  should  be,  one  of  home,  love, 
and  companionship." 

Mrs.  Holmes  pressed  the  little  gray-gloved 
hand  lovingly,  even  while  she  said:  "Stop  just 
where  you  are,  you  chronic  match-maker!  Let 
me  get  what  content  freedom  holds — and  it  is  so 
much  to  one  who  has  been  in  prison." 

Just  then  a  gentleman  joined  them,  a  portly, 


132  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

burly  individual,  who  settled  down  by  the  old 
lady  like  an  elephant  beside  a  little,  gray  dove. 

"Well,  little  woman,  how  is  it?"  he  asked, 
referring  to  the  beauty  of  the  Sound,  with  its 
lovely  patches  of  irregular  shores,  "bracing, 
eh?  And  how  is  our  little  captain?  Glad  you 
came,  ain't  you?  I  tell  you  this  breeze  is  a 
tonic." 

"Yes,"  agreed  his  wife.  "But  you,  major, 
always  come  booming  around  more  like  a  hurri- 
cane than  a  breeze.  Do  try  and  be  a  little  more 
restful." 

"Can't,  my  dear.  If  I  was  restful  I  would  have 
to  deprive  myself  of  tobacco,  and  buy  anti-fat 
medicine  instead.  I've  just  been  tramping  the 
upper  deck  with  the  mate  until  I'm  pretty  well 
blown,  and  came  down  here  for  a  quiet  breath. " 

"But  you  do  not  allow  yourself  to  take  it 
quietly,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  slyly;  and  the  old 
gentleman  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"Ah!  you  know  me  little  captain,  don't  you? 
I  suppose  I  seldom  do  stop  chatting  long  enough 
to  take  breath.  But  I  just  heard  something  of 
our  Oyster  Bay  friend,  Mr.  Alison." 

"  He  is  not  an  '  Oyster  Bay'  friend,"  corrected 
Mrs.  Winans.  "How  can  we  call  him  that  when 
his  mother  and  I  were  friends  before  he  was 
born,  and  I  have  actually  held  him  in  my  arms  as 
a  babe." 

"Oh,  you  have,  have  you?"  growled  her  hus- 
band with  intense  ferocity.  "  Only  let  me  see 
him  in  your  arms,  that's  all." 


GALEED.  133 

"And  so,"  continued  his  wife,  not  noticing  the 
interruption,  * '  and  so  we  can  not  call  him  merely 
a  sea-side  acquaintance.  I  really  like  him  too 
well  to  drop  him  that  way." 

"Urn,  hum!"  grunted  her  husband.  "The 
only  comfort  I  have  in  this  case  is  that  the  gentle- 
man does  not  reciprocate,  for  he  most  assuredly 
was  not  too  much  infatuated  to  drop  you,  after 
one  dinner  together,"  and  he  chuckled  maliciously 
and  confidentially  to  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"  That  is  a  most  unkind,  uncalled  for  remark," 
announced  his  wife,  "isn't  it,  Judith?  He  had 
to  leave  because  of  business;  he  said  so,  and  I 
am  sure  he  is  too  honest  to  resort  to  fibs." 

"Fibs  is  scarcely  the  word,"  assented  the 
major,  "there  is  a  stronger  one  used  sometimes 
that  might  fit  such  cases." 

"Major!" 

"  I  always  know  when  she  says  *  major'  in  that 
tone  that  it  is  time  to  get  behind  a  barricade. 
Say,  little  captain,  let  me  get  behind  you? " 

"Instead of  beating  a  retreat,  you  had  better 
enlighten  us  as  to  Mr.  Alison's  perfidy,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Holmes,  anxious  to  settle  this  amic- 
able quarrel. 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure,  with  decided  pleas- 
ure, since  it  may  squelch  an  infatuation  dangerous 
to  domestic  felicity;  squelch  is  not  an  elegant 
word,  but  it  is  handy,"  he  explained.  "But  to 
proceed:  You  remember  an  evening  a  few  weeks 
ago  when  you  invited  a  journalistic  friend,  not 
an  Oyster  Bay  acquaintance,  to  dine  with  us? 


134  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

And  you,  little  captain,  may  remember  the  dead- 
set  made  at  his  rakish  charms  by  my  spouse;  its 
no  use,  Mrs.  Winans,  to  tell  me  how  handsome  he 
is.  Can  you  expect  me  to  see  anything  charming 
in  the  destroyer  of  my  peace?  And  you  remem- 
ber how  she  hunted  up  a  buried  friendship  with 
his  departed  mamma?  The  poor  lady  could  not 
come  from  her  grave  to  deny  it,  and  she  meanly 
took  advantage  of  that  fact.  Well,  my  dear,  it 
was  not  strictly  honorable;  and  in  fact,  she  at 
once  began  laying  out  such  a  route  of  rides  and 
sails  at  which  he  saw  he  would  have  to  act  as 
escort,  and  at  once  convenient  business  was 
pleaded,  and  served  to  call  him  to  some  unmen- 
tioned  quarter." 

"  I  really  do  not  see  the  necessity  of  all  this 
preamble,"  remarked  his  wife  slightingly. 

"I  am  studying  dramatic  effect,  my  dear,  and 
working  up  to  the  climax  where  truth  confronts 
its  opposite;  and  you  are  informed  that  your  som- 
bre Lothario  has  been  waiting  around  these  shores 
ever  since,  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  you, 
yet  escaped  your  eagle  glance.  What  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"It's  a — a  mistake,  surely,"  answered  his  wife; 
"you  have  been  misinformed." 

"Oh no,  I  have  not,"  returned  the  major,  easily, 
"the  mate  knows  him,  and  tells  me  he  made  the 
trip  to  Sag  Harbor  yesterday  on  this  steamer,  and 
the  chances  are  you  will  have  an  opportunity  to 
confront  him  with  his  deceit;  that  is,  if  he  don't 
see  you  first." 


GALEED.  135 

' '  Judith ;  do  you  hear  this?  Do  you  believe  it? ' ' 
demanded  little  Mrs.  Winans,  blankly. 

"Oh  yes;  I  believe  all  I  hear;  I  don't  know  any 
better." 

It  was  the  first  comment  she  had  as  yet  made, 
and  neither  imagined  that  her  silence  meant  any- 
thing but  indifference. 

"And  I  had  such  faith  in  those  honest  eyes  of 
his,"  said  the  little  lady,  lamentingly. 

"  I  see  no  reason  for  a  loss  of  faith,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Holmes;  "give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 
re-instate  your  idol  until  you  hear  the  evidence. 
He  is  a  worker.  An  inspiration  may  have  neces- 
sitated his  withdrawal  from  the  giddy  crowd  for 
a  season.  Your  devotion  is  weak  if  it  doubts  on 
the  circumstantial." 

"  Judith,  you  are  a  darling!  " 

"  Little  captain,  you're  a  traitor." 

"Of  course  he  has  much  to  do,"  assented  Mrs. 
Winans;  "much  quiet  study  to  produce  those 
beautiful  stories  of  his.  He  has  no  need  to  take 
anti-fat  remedies  because  of  inexertion. ' ' 

"  I  rather  think,"  said  the  major,  reflectively, 
to  Mrs.  Holmes,  "that  to  win  back  her  affection, 
I  shall  have  to  write  a  novel  myself,  or  a  poem. 
She  dotes  on  poems,  and  there  I'll  get  ahead  of 
him,  for  I  don't  believe  he  does  anything  but 
plain,  every-day  prose.  My  mind  is  made  up; 
Pll  write  a  poem." 

"  And  I  will  illustrate  it." 

"  It's  a  bargain!  You  owe  some  penance  in  this 
affair,  because  you  invited  him  to  that  dinner, 


136  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

and  over  it  she  remembered  that  she  had  once 
held  him  in  her  arms,  and  from  that  moment 
dates — well,  if  my  happiness  is  buried  forever, 
I  will  lay  the  blame  at  your  door." 

"  Major,"  said  his  wife,  briskly,  "  on  our  arrival 
you  must  go  at  once  to  the  hotels  and  see  if  Mr. 
Alison  is  still  here,  and  if  so,  bring  him  to  see  us, 
bring  him  to  see  me." 

"I'll  entice  him  down  to  the  harbor  and  drop 
him  in,"  confided  the  major  to  Mrs.  Holmes. 

But  on  landing  at  the  dock  they  found  them- 
selves all  at  sea  about  hotels.  They  had  taken  it 
for  granted  that  in  a  quiet,  non-society  place  like 
Sag  Harbor  it  would  be  easy  to  get  accommoda- 
tions. But  some  "high  jink,"  as  the  major 
termed  it,  had  brought  the  neighboring  fire 
departments  into  the  little  place,  and  with  them 
an  influx  of  visitors  that  had  taken  possession  of 
the  hotels.  "  Everything  full,"  was  the  response 
from  all  quarters. 

"I  feel  like  getting  full  myself,"  grunted  the 
major,  sitting  down  disconsolately  on  the  steps 
of  the  hotel,  whose  proprietor  offered  them 
any  amount  of  space  a  week  ahead,  but  now— 
no,  it  was  impossible  to  accommodate  even  the 
ladies. 

"My  one  comfort  in  this,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Holmes,  "is  that  Lisa  is  safe  down  in  the  piney 
woods.  If  she  was  here  she  would  simply  howl, 
or  chant  Methodist  hymns  to  give  vent  to  her 
feelings  at  having  no  roof  to  cover  her." 

"Judith,  you  always  know  the  right  thing  to 


GALEED.  137 

do  at  the  right  time,"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  flatter- 
ingly; "  do  tell  us  what  to  do  now." 

"Suppose  we  hire  a  boat  and  live  on  the  bay," 
was  the  brilliant  suggestion  that  met  only 
glances  of  disdain  from  the  others,  and  the  major 
sadly  drew  a  railroad  schedule  out  of  his  satchel, 
preparatory  to  leaving  the  town. 

"I  think  I  can  help  you  to  something  better 
than  that,  if  you  will  allow  me,"  said  a  voice 
inside  the  window  beside  which  they  sat  for- 
lornly. 

"Mr.  Alison,"  breathed  Mrs.  Winans,  grate- 
fully, "  come  out  of  that  office  at  once  and  shake 
hands  with  me,  and  tell  us  where  we  can  pitch 
our  tents." 

And  a  moment  later  he  was  shaking  hands 
heartily  with  the  major  and  his  wife,  and  as  earn- 
estly, if  in  silence,  with  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"I  forgive  you  for  hiding  around  the  corner  of 
the  island,"  said  the  old  lady,  magnanimously. 
"I  accept  any  excuse  for  you  running  away,  if 
you  will  only  come  to  our  rescue  now." 

"  With  the  assurance  of  your  continued  favor 
all  things  are  easy,"  he  answered,  gallantly,  and 
then  turned  to  the  major.  "  Come  along,"  he  said 
briskly,  "and  come  quick,  or  some  one  else  may 
be  ahead  of  us.  I  have  found  a  haven  out  along 
the  shore  road,  and  there  may  be  room  for  your 
party.  Let  me  show  the  ladies  into  the  parlor 
here,  and  then  I  am  at  your  service." 

But  the  ladies  preferred  the  open  porch  and 
view  of  the  old  village  street  where  the  names  of 


138  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

Portugese  and  Lascar  swung  on  many  signs  under 
which  the  native  of  the  soil — the  Indian — still 
does  his  trading. 

"Is  it  not  providential,  our  meeting  him?" 
asked  Mrs.  Winans. 

"  Wait  until  you  have  seen  the  results,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Holmes,  dryly.  "Your  faithless 
swain  may  not  after  all  be  a  conqueror  of 
hotel-keepers,  though  he  is  of  susceptible 
hearts." 

"Judith,  you  are  as  bad  as  the  major — worse, 
for  I  do  believe  you  have  a  prejudice  against  that 
fine  fellow,  though  you  did  illustrate  his  book  so 
beautifully.  Come,  own  up." 

"What  shall  I  acknowledge?  I  think  I  have 
been  much  nicer  to  Mr.  Alison  than  he  has  been 
to  us." 

"Y — es — no — I'm  not  sure  that  you  have," 
returned  the  little  lady,  thoughtfully.  "That 
evening  he  spent  with  us  I  remember  thinking 
you  were  as  near  horrid  as  it  was  possible  for 
you  to  be." 

"Don't  mind  complimenting  me  if  you  feel 
like  it." 

"I  shan't,"  returned  her  fault-finder,  calmly; 
"for  you  can  be  so  thoroughly  charming  with 
people  if  you  want  to.  But  that  night  a  perverse 
spirit  made  you  appear  the  most  shallow  and 
frivolous  of  girls.  No  one  would  have  imagined 
you  ever  had  a  serious  thought.  And  he  admired 
you.  Yes,  I  am  sure  he  did.  But  I  know  he 
expected  something  much  more  intellectual  than 


GALEED.  139 

you  showed  yourself  that  evening.  Why,  you 
were  perfectly  devoted  to  the  major,  and  the  pair 
of  you  talked  sheep-breeding  and  high  and  low 
pasture  lands  until  one  would  think  you  had  been 
born  in  a  stable,  and  never  had  any  higher  themes 
of  conversation." 

"Goon.  What  a  memory  you  have  for  rem- 
iniscences." 

"Don't  you  really  like  him,  Judith?" 

' '  I  would  not  dare  say  '  no '  even  if  I  thought 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  banteringly.  "Of  course 
I  like  the  man  well  enough.  He  is  as  good  as  the 
average  specimen,  I  dare  say.  And  it  behooves 
me  to  be  agreeable,  else  he  may  withdraw  his 
lordly  favor  in  the  shape  of  future  work." 

"Judith!" 

"I'm  done." 

' '  I  will  not  have  you  look  on  my  friends  in  that 
horrid,  mercenary  light." 

"  Your  friends?  Do  you  remember  it  was  I 
who  introduced  you?  I  knew  him  first." 

"I,"  triumphantly  announced  the  little  lady, 
with  an  air  of  check,  "danced  him  on  my  knee 
years  and  years  ago." 

"  I  give  in,"  laughed  Mrs.  Holmes.  "  As  yet  I 
have  not  had  that  felicity."  - 

"Judith!" 

"  My  dear,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  develop  into  a 
little  gray-garbed  exclamation  point  if  you  per- 
sist in  that  startling  habit  you  have  of  quelling 
the  major  and  myself." 

"Do  try  and  be  a  little  nicer  to  him  now  that 


140  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

we  have  met  again,"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  per- 
suasively; "really  it  seems  like  fate." 

' '  It  seems  a  great  deal  more  like  following  him, ' ' 
returned  Mrs.  Holmes,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 
And  then  they  saw  the  forms  of  their  scouts 
coming  up  the  street,  and  judged  from  the 
major's  satisfied  face  that  it  had  been  a  successful 
raid. 

"I  give  in,  little  woman,"  he  said,  when  in 
speaking  distance;  "your  nursling  is  a  genius 
in  the  way  of  a  guide.  You  are  installed  in  the 
prettiest,  breeziest  of  rooms,  with  a  view  that  is 
an  invigorator  in  itself;  a  resting  place  to  gladden 
the  hearts  of  just  such  tramps  as  we.  Come 
along,  little  captain,  I  leave  my  spouse  to  express 
her  gratitude  to  Mr.  Alison,  and  we  will  lead  the 
way  in  the  direction  of  dinner — it  smells  excel- 
lent." 

And  a  pleasant  resting  place  they  really  found 
it;  a  big  white  frame  house  with  immense  wide 
porches,  and  a  great,  grassy  yard  reaching  down 
to  the  street  that  was  really  more  like  a  country 
road,  for  beyond  it  was  a  meadow  where  the  cat- 
tle grazed  almost  to  the  water's  edge.  And  out 
from  that  shimmered  the  waves  in  the  noon  sun, 
away  across  to  the  long  bar  of  yellow  sand  that 
breaks  in  two  the  distance  between  the  home 
shore  and  the  lighthouse. 

"It  is  glorious,"  admitted  Mrs.  Holmes,  step- 
ping out  on  the  porch,  where  an  after-dinner 
smoke  was  making  the  air  redolant  of  Durham, 
N.  C. 


GALEED.  141 

"The  credit  is  all  Mr.  Alison's.  Come  right 
her£  and  say  something  nice  to  him,"  commanded 
Mrs.  Winans,  who  had  preceded  her,  and  joined 
the  gentlemen,  the  youngest  of  whom  gave  her  his 
chair,  and  tossing  his  cigar  away,  arranged  a  cor- 
ner for  Mrs.  Holmes,  where  the  view  was  best. 
Into  it  she  dropped,  indolently,  with  a  gracious 
nod  of  thanks. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  know  how  to  say 
nice  things,"  she  remarked,  "but  if  any  one  will 
prompt  me  I  will  do  my  best." 

"  I  think  an  extremely  nice  thing  to  say  would 
be  that  you  are  not  sorry  to  see  me  again,"  ven- 
tured Alison. 

"  How  could  I  possibly  be  that  when  we  have 
been  such  gainers  through  your  kindness?  I  am 
really  very  grateful." 

"  You  may  call  that  nice,  but  I  was  not  fishing 
for  gratitude,"  he  returned,  drily. 

"What's  that  about  fishing?"  called  the  major, 
from  the  steps,  where  he  was  watching  a  couple 
of  boys  tussling  on  the  grass;  "good  fishing  about 
here?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  provokingly,  "Mr. 
Alison  finds  the  water  too  shallow." 

"Not  that  exactly,"  he  returned,  "only 
wind  and  tide  are  rather  perverse  for  smooth 
sailing." 

And  then  their  eyes  chanced  to  meet,  and  did 
not  seem  able  to  part  unconsciously,  and  both 
having  a  rather  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  found 
themselves  laughing  in  each  other's  faces,  without 


142  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

any  reason  that  could  be  easily  explained  j;o  a 
third  person. 

"  Did  you  really  run  away  around  the  corner  of 
the  island,  as  Mrs.  Winans  accused  you  of  doingf 
she  asked,  after  a  little,  and  the  mere  question 
gave  him  a  hope  that  a  part  of  the  barrier  was 
slipping  away.  Several  times  in  their  rather  pecu- 
liar acquaintance,  he  had  thought  that,  and  then, 
without  the  slightest  warning,  had  suddenly 
found  it  raised  again,  and  herself  buried  behind  it 
completely  out  of  sight. 

"I  did  not  run  away,  I  sailed  away,"  he 
returned,  literally,  "and  I  came  around  the  cor- 
ners, as  you  term  it,  because  it  was  the  only  way 
I  could  reach  Montauk  Point,  as  I  am  doing  some 
work  for  which  it  was — ' 

"There,  there,"  she  protested,  "I  am  not 
installed  as  confessor  to  you;  I  leave  that  to  Mrs. 
Winans,  who  was  disconsolate  at  not  being  able  to 
renew  more  thoroughly  your  former  acquaint- 
ance." 

"One  that  was  all  on  her  side,"  he  returned, 
"owing  to  my  insensibility,  at  that  age,  to  the 
charms  of  ladies  in  general." 

"  One  you  have  outgrown,  I  dare  say,"  said  the 
old  lady,  who  was  promenading  the  porch,  and 
reached  their  corner  in  time  to  hear  the  last 
remark. 

"  I  shall  try  to  prove  so  during  your  stay,"  he 
answered  her,  "  as  under  existing  circumstances, 
we  are  obliged  to  live  under  the  same  roof,  unless 
you  decree  that  I  shall  take  myself  boatward." 


GALEED.  143 

"  You  are  much  more  likely  to  take  to  a  boat 
of  your  own  accord,"  she  smiled  in  return;  "  but 
if  you  do  remain,  I  promise  to  see  that  we  do  not 
in  the  least  interfere  with  your  work.  You  shall 
be  just  as  industrious  as  you  like,  you,  and  Judith, 
too.  In  fact,  she  never  does,  and  never  will  stop 
her  work  for  any  one.  She  is  the  most  indepen- 
dent of  mortals,  and  never  expects  the  little 
attentions  of  life,  and  I — well,  I  do  a  little.  But 
the  major  is  never  far  off.  So  you  two  young 
people  can  work  through  your  vacations  to  your 
hearts'  content." 

"That  sounds  very  well,"  remarked  the  major 
in  an  aside  to  Alison,  "  and  is  likely  to  quell  a 
man's  fears  of  fans,  and  sun  umbrellas,  and  lunch 
baskets,  and  awnings,  but  I  happen  to  know  that, 
little  as  she  is,  she  can  keep  three  men  busy  wait- 
ing on  her,  and  two  is  a  mere  bagatelle." 

"One  could  not  reckon  you  among  the  baga- 
telles, major,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  comprehen- 
sive glance  at  his  aldermanic  proportions. 

"Now  there's  little  captain,"  he  continued, 
heedless  of  the  last  remark,  "she  is  a  thoroughly 
good  fellow,  and  always  able  to  look  after  her- 
self." 

"Thanks,  major.  It  has  been  an  affair  of 
'have  to'  so  often,  that  I  never  think  of  wait- 
ing for  anyone  else  to  take  care  of  me,  and  am 
glad  my  friends  appreciate  my  lack  of  dependence 
on  them." 

"Yes — yes.  You  always  were  like  that  even 
when  a  little  chap.  You  know,  Mr.  Alison,  Mrs. 


144  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

Holmes  and  myself  have  been  chums  ever  since 
she  was  in  pinafores;  I  helped  teach  her  to  ride 
and  swim,  and  she  does  me  credit,  too." 

Alison  found  himself  wondering,  with  a  sort  of 
puzzled  humor,  at  his  old  ideas  of  this  artist.  His 
written  opinions  of  her  character,  her  soul,  as  he 
fancied  he  had  caught  glimpses  of  them;  and  to 
hear  her  claimed  in  this  sort  of  good-fellowship, 
even  by  an  old  friend,  was  as  much  of  a  surprise 
as  her  cynical,  half-coquetry  at  their  first  meet- 
ing. It  gave  him  a  puzzling  feeling  of  complexity. 
Her  personality  in  any  phase  given  him  was 
unsatisfactory,  a  disappointment.  Yet  back  of 
all  his  distaste,  her  face  shone  out  clearly  to  him, 
and  in  its  eyes  was  a  something  of  feeling  that 
belied  all  the  carelessness  of  raillery. 

"She  interests,  and  she  disturbs  me,"  he  con- 
fided to  his  pipe  an  hour  or  so  later.  "  She  is  a 
loss,  and  a  gain.  She  has  taken  from  me  all 
those  exalted  ideal  fancies  I  had  of  her.  But  she 
has  given  me  instead  a  character  whose  study 
should  be  a  thing  desired  by  a  writer.  I  wonder 
if  that  is  not  a  very  cold-blooded  way  to  think  of 
her  after — after — well,  it  is  not  I,  it  is  herself.  I 
feel  ashamed  in  her  eyes  when  I  remember  that 
episode  of  Oyster  Bay,  and  yet,  I  am  irritated 
with  her  for  not  being  what  I  hoped.  It  is  a 
decided  mix." 

After  that  decision,  the  pipe  having  emptied 
itself  into  air,  he  proceeded  to  disrobe,  stopping 
now  and  then  for  a  long  stare  at  himself  in  the 
mirror,  as  if  it  was  his  own  face  that  puzzled  him 


GALEED.  145 

instead  of  another's,  and  then  with  a  lazy,  luxuri- 
ous stretch  between  the  sheets,  he  yawned  him- 
self sleepily  into  another  query:  "I  wonder  how 
long  she  has  been  a  widow,  and  I  wonder — I  won- 
der what  Mr.  Holmes  was?  That  knowledge 
might  help  one  to  see  a  little  daylight  through 
this  confused  personality." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Because  its  way  was  as  a  lost  star's  way, 

A  world  not  wholly  known  of  day  or  night. 
****** 

Song,  have  thy  day  and  take  thy  fill  of  light 
Before  the  night  be  fallen  across  thy  way. 


SAG  HARBOR,  L.  I.,  JFTTE  15,  188  —  . 
MY  DEAR  GEORGE:  Yes,  I  am  still  here  in  this 
delightfully  primitive  end  of  the  island,  the  por- 
tion of  it  where  wild  bits  will  persist  in  stubbornly 
resisting  all  things  modern  or  civilized.  I  find  it 
most  enjoyable,  and  have  met  people  here  pleasant 
to  know  —  two  that  are  delightful  old  characters, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Winans,  and  the  third  is  Mrs. 
Holmes.  You  will  wonder,  no  doubt,  that  I  have 
not  written  of  our  meeting  before.  I  have  known 
her  now  three  weeks,  or  I  can  scarcely  say  I 
know  her,  either.  If  I  had  been  more  sure  of  that 
you  would  have  heard  of  our  meeting  earlier. 
We  are  two  different  people  from  the  writers  of 


146  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS, 

those  letters,  and  it  is  rather  humiliating  to  have 
to  confess  that  I  deserve  a  sort  of  neglect  that  I 
have  been  treated  to  in  that  direction.  The  cause 
is  not  easy  to  explain;  it  is  through  no  new  short- 
coming, but  merely  because  the  shadows  of  the 
old  have  such  a  trick  of  cleaving  to  a  man.  You 
know  the  earnest,  sympathetic  character  I  had 
pictured  her.  Well,  what  do  you  imagine  the 
realization  to  be?  A  gay,  careless,  beautiful 
creature.  Those  are  the  first  words  of  description 
that  occur  to  me.  They  do  not  suggest  the  writer 
of  those  letters,  do  they?  To  me  she  is  a  Mona 
Lisa,  laughing  always  with  her  lips,  yet  com- 
pelling thought  always  with  her  eyes.  Her 
friends  adore  her,  and  despite  the  contradictory 
curves  in  her  nature  I  feel  always  a  sense  of  its 
fineness.  A  certainty  that  friendship  from  her 
would  be  as  a  friendship  from  man  to  man — with- 
out any  mistaken  ideas  for  a  foundation  such  as 
generally  exist  between  men  and  women.  You 
would  have  to  know  her  independence  of  char- 
acter to  understand  this  idea  of  her. 

I  wish  you  could  come  down  here  for  a  few 
days.  You  would  like  each  other  I  am  sure,  and 
against  you  she  would  build  up  no  barricade. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  Mrs.  Winans  knew 
my  mother,  and  remembers  Julia  as  a  child  quite 
well,  and  on  the  strength  of  those  reminiscences 
has  delegated  me  as  escort  in  ordinary  to  herself 
—in  fact  has  adopted  me  in  the  most  motherly 
fashion.  A  dainty,  charming,  make-believe 
mother,  who  is  looked  after  still  as  a  sort  of 


GALEED.  147 

spoiled  child  by  her  big,  jolly,  good-natured  hus- 
band. 

Come  down  if  you  can.  I  believe  the  Winans 
expect  friends  for  a  few  days'  stay,  and  a  young 
girl  who  is  to  be  left  in  their  charge  for  the  sum- 
mer. I  know  the  male  portion  of  the  party; 
Hallet  is  the  name;  pleasant  sort  of  fellows.  But 
the  quartette  here  for  the  past  week  has  been  in 
many  ways  a  pleasant  affair,  and  I  do  not  care  to 
have  pleasant  affairs  banished  by  new-comers, 
who  swoop  down  with  the  assured  presumption 
of  prior  rights  through  first  acquaintanceship. 

This  strikes  me  as  being  a  very  different  tone  of 
letter  from  the  last  one  I  wrote  you  regarding  my 
artist  friend.  I  called  her  friend  then  with  more 
certainty  than  I  can  now.  The  unexpected  seems 
always  happening  in  our  acquaintance,  and  I 
find  myself  wondering  if  the  interest  in  each 
other  that  seemed  fraught  with  earnest  good  is 
after  all  to  dwindle  into  a  mere  episode,  a  sug- 
gestion of  helpful  promises  empty  of  fulfillment. 

But  moralizing  is  out  of  tune  with  the  weather 
to-day.  A  stiff  breeze  is  blowing,  just  enough  to 
take  us  out  to  deep  water,  where  I  think  the  fish 
are  waiting  for  us,  so  a  good-bye  to  you.  Write 
me  when  you  feel  in  the  humor,  and  come  to  me 
if  you  can.  DALE. 

A  few  days  after  the  posting  of  the  above  a 
large  row-boat,  cutting  its  way  over  the  home 
waters  of  the  Sound,  had  on  board  a  party  of 
visitors,  together  with  the  Hallets,  whose  coming 
Alison  had  not  regarded  with  special  favor. 


148  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

There  was  the  father,  a  slightly  built  gentle- 
man with  eye-glasses  and  mutton-chop  whiskers 
that,  together  with  a  tourist  cap,  gave  him  quite 
an  English  air — a  bit  of  a  dandy  despite  his  gray 
hairs  and  his  grown  children.  Two  of  them— 
Tom,  a  young  fellow  of  twenty-two,  and  Grace,  a 
girl  of  sixteen — the  identical  Grace  who  had 
helped  eat  Alison's  candies  that  day  at  Oyster 
Bay,  and  who,  despite  conventional  introductions, 
persisted  in  calling  him  Fra  Lippo. 

"  Why  not?"  she  demanded  of  Mrs.  Holmes, 
who  had  smiled  questioningly  at  the  title,  "  Tom 
says  it's  too  familiar,  but  I  can't  see  that  it  is, 
only  to  call  a  man  by  the  name  of  a  monk  who 
died  generations  ago.  I  think  it  gives  quite  an 
ecclesiastical  tone  to  an  acquaintance,  don't  you?" 

"An  ecclesiastical  tone  seems  rather  far- 
fetched, does  it  not?  He  was  a  sad  bohemian — I 
mean,  of  course,  Fra  Lippo." 

A  little  back  of  them  sat  Alison,  and  hearing 
the  words,  smiled  a  little,  not  a  very  gay  smile. 
Nothing  in  this  new  acquaintance  seemed  to 
partake  of  gayety  to  him,  though  the  bit  of  sug- 
gestion in  her  speech  might  have  shown  him 
that  her  interest  had  been  enough  to  make  her 
remember. 

"Papa  likes  him,"  continued  the  girl,  "and  so 
does  Tom,  and  1 — well,  I  just  think  he's  a  dar— 
well,  splendid,"  she  amended,  in  view  of  Mrs. 
Holmes'  raised  brows.  "  Fra  Lippo  himself  could 
not  be  more  interesting — a  novelist,  too!  and  I 
just  dote  on  literary  people." 


GALEED. 

"My  blushes  i3rompt  me  to  tell  you  I  am 
here,"  said  a  voice  back  of  them,  "and  the  wind  is 
blowing  your  stage  whispers  straight  to  me,  and, 
Miss  Grace,  if  you  have  any  more  of  those  pleas- 
ant things  to  say,  tell  them  to  me;  I  will  be  much 
more  easily  convinced  of  my  own  charms  than 
you  will  find  Mrs.  Holmes.  She  has  an  ingrained 
disbelief  in  me." 

"How  can  you  say  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Winans, 
after  they  had  landed,  and  scattered  over  the 
beach,  or  wandered  into  the  woods.  "  I  am  quite 
sure  Judith  thinks  well  of  you,  but  you  see  her 
own  experiences  have  made  her  a  little  cynical  as 
to  men  in  general." 

The  old  lady  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
he  knew  something  about  those  hinted  at  experi- 
ences, and  the  mere  fact  that  they  had  existed 
made  him  wonder  a  little  as  to  their  tone,  but  he 
only  said:  "Yes,  no  doubt,"  in  a  non-committal 
way. 

"  You  see  she  was  very  young  when  the  mar- 
riage took  place,"  continued  the  old  lady,  as  if  in 
extenuation  of  something,  "and  it  seems  such  a 
pity  that  it  should  have  affected  her  life  as  it  has. 
She  does  not  seem  to  forget  it  easily,  but  then  she 
never  was  like  most  girls." 

"No,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  where  she  sat, 
quiet  and  alone  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  where 
the  sweet  bay  grows  down  to  the  sea  sand,  "  no, 
she  is  not." 

"I  am  so  glad  you  find  her  exceptional,"  flut- 
tered the  little  gray  dove  in  a  pleased  way,  "so 


i,">0  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

few  people  know  her  at  her  best;  in  fact,  but  few 
people  ever  know  her  at  all,  she  is  so  averse  to 
society  in  general. " 

"Yet  she  seems  fitted  for  a  social  life,"  he 
remarked,  feeling  that  he  should  say  something, 
but  preferring  to  watch  lazily  the  subject  of  their 
conversation. 

"  Certainly  she  is,"  assented  her  friend  warmly, 
"but  her  strange  education,  her  queer  training, 
you  know,  gave  her  too  serious  a  nature  for  a  girl. 
At  seventeen  she  was  more  an  atheist  than  any- 
thing else." 

"  What?"  he  said,  in  slow  surprise,  raising  him- 
self on  his  elbow. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  "I  used  to  think  it  terrible 
when  I  met  them  first.  But  her  father  was  the 
same;  she  knew  nothing  else.  What  a  dreamer 
that  man  was,  but  brilliant — yes,  decidedly  so. 
And  such  a  clique  as  he  kept  about  him!  queer 
companions  for  a  girl — earnest  scientists,  worn- 
out  pretenders,  victims  of  either  churches  or  gov- 
ernments abroad;  in  fact,  the  place  always  seemed 
redolent  of  gunpowder  plots  and  martyrdom.  His 
house  was  open,  and  toward  the  last,  his  pockets 
generally  empty.  And  all  the  while  Judith 
growing  to  womanhood,  with  little  care  but  that 
of  Lisa,  her  nurse.  Just  think  of  such  dubious, 
shifting  surroundings  for  a  girl." 

"  She  does  not  seem  ever  to  have  belonged  to 
such  surroundings,"  he  answered. 

"  Certainly  not;  but  as  I  said  before,  she  was 
not  like  other  girls,  else  she  would  have  been 


GALEED.  151 

influenced  by  it  very  badly,  led  into  all  sorts  of 
wild  hobbies.  But  as  it  was,  she  with  her  nature 
was  only  led  through  it  into  marriage." 

"  Was  he — was  her  husband  of  the  same  ideas 
in  a  religious  way?"  he  asked. 

"Winnett  Holmes?  Well,  I  should  imagine 
his  fancies  in  religion,  were  as  in  all  things  else 
— changeable.  He  was  a  dilletante'in  those  days, 
a  skimmer  of  all  things  serious,  but  a  trifler 
always;  one  of  the  men  whom  the  major  says  is  a 
good  fellow  among  the  boys,  but  not  an  angel  in 
the  home  circle.  But  Judith,  with  her  earnest 
way  of  taking  tinsel  for  gold,  did  not  see  the 
pretenses  and  the  hollowness  until  it  was  too 
late." 

"No  doubt  it  is  often  so  in  love  affairs,  is  it 
not?"  he  asked,  rather  lamely. 

"  You  ought  to  know  just  as  much  about  that 
as  an  old  woman  like  me,"  she  returned,  half- 
teasingly;  "  but  the  worst  of  this  was  that  I  don't 
believe  there  was  any  love  affair  about  it.  He 
was  infatuated  with  her,  and  had  made  love  to 
too  many  women  not  to  know  exactly  how  to  win 
a  great,  lonely,  serious  child,  for  she  was  little 
more  when  her  father  died.  She  had  a  sort  of 
fancy  that  life  would  go  on  much  the  same  with 
herself  and  a  husband,  as  it  had  been  with  herself 
and  her  father — one  of  simplicity  and  study. 
Well,  you  will  have  to  hear  the  major  tell  his 
usual  order  of  life  to  show  one  how  short  a  time  it 
took  to  disillusion  a  girl  of  her  dreamy  impracti- 
cal nature." 


152  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"  It  is  best  after  all  then  that  she  has  been  left 
alone — so,"  he  said  approvingly.  As  he  glanced 
across  at  her,  where  the  others  had  joined  her, 
and  she  was  skimming  the  water  with  pebbles, 
her  laugh  coming  to  them  clearly  as  she  distanced 
Tom  Hallet  in  the  same  feat;  and  watching  the 
girlishness  of  her  manner,  it  seemed  to  him  only 
right  that  anything  in  the  way  of  a  weight  should 
be  removed  from  her  life,  if  even  by  death. 

"Of  course  it  is  best,"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  deci- 
dedly. "It  was  an  unfortunate  affair  and  has 
changed  all  her  ideas  of  happiness;  now  the  sum 
total  to  her  seems  to  be  freedom.  Just  to  have 
her  work,  and  live  her  life  alone." 

"And  her  religion?"  he  queried,  remembering 
those  letters  of  hers  that  seemed  to  him  so  full  of 
a  helpful  spirit  of  religion,  though  in  reality  it 
may  not  have  been  an  orthodox  one. 

"  She  never  discusses  that  now,"  answered  the 
old  lady,  "  and  I  have  a  hope  that  among  other 
things  he  made  hateful  to  her  was  that  sham  of 
pretense.  For  I  think  he  was  really  too  shallow 
even  to  have  been  an  honest  atheist." 

"An  honest  atheist,"  repeated  Alison,  smiling; 
"we  are  not  far  enough  advanced  as  yet  to  hear 
that  term  in  a  commonplace  way.  It  sounds 
anomalitic." 

"  It  would  not  if  you  had  known  her  father," 
she  returned  warmly.  "He  was  an  honest  athe- 
ist and  an  exceptional  nature,  one  that  he  has 
given  in  part  to  Judith.  The  sort  that  keeps  itself 
clean  even  when  helping  others  out  of  the  mud. 


GALEED.  153 

But  through  his  associates  and  her  husband  one 
could  see  how  much  pretense  there  is  among  those 
dissenters  from  faith.  A  desire  to  be  thought  of 
stronger  mind  than  those  who  let  themselves 
believe.  There  is  as  much  pretense  among  athe- 
ists as  there  is  in  the  churches." 

"And  she  has  drifted  away  from  them,  you 
think?" 

"  I  scarcely  know.  She  does  not  speak  of  her- 
self with  her  old  freedom;  we  have  not  seen  much 
of  her  for  two  years;  since  she  has  been  doing 
book  illustrating  she  has  traveled  much,  just 
herself  and  Lisa,  and  the  contact  with  strangers 
has  given  a  sort  of  veneer  that  she  never  used 
to  have,  an  independence,  and  a  pretense  of 
frivolity  that  is  not  natural.  Look  at  her  now! 
Just  for  the  moment  in  that  romp  with  Grace  she 
is  herself,  but  in  five  minutes  she  is  so  likely  to  act 
the  most  blase  of  mortals.  I  feel  like  lecturing  her, 
sometimes,  and  then  again  I  can  only  feel  sorry." 

A  little  later  the  old  lady's  gossiping  was 
ended  by  Grace,  who  captured  her  and  insisted 
that  she  go  over  and  read  a  lecture  to  the  major 
whom  she  declared  was  flirting  shamefully  with 
her.  And  Alison  lay  where  she  had  left  him,  his 
eyes  following  Mrs.  Holmes  and  Tom  Hallet  as 
they  sauntered  along  the  beach  shying  pebbles 
and  talking.  Now  they  reach  a  strip  of  boggy 
land,  and  Tom  holds  her  hand  and  helps  her  over, 
and  now  he  takes  her  parasol  and  saunters  along 
with  his  hand  almost  touching  the  white  draped 
shoulder.  What  decided  shoulders  she  has,  he 


154  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

thought.,  and  at  the  same  time,  how  insignificant 
Tom  Hallet  coiild  look.  He  had  known  him  i'or 
some  time,  but  the  idea  had  never  struck  him  with 
such  force  until  he  saw  him  bending  toward 
Mrs.  Holmes  in  that  impressive  manner. 

"What  idiots  some  men  can  look  when  there 
is  a  woman  in  the  question,"  he  thought,  morosely, 
and  then  laughed  as  he  added,  "  I  wonder  which 
of  us  Tom  would  think  most  like  a  fool  in  this 
case?" 

And  he  rose  and  stalked  over  to  where  the 
others  had,  by  this  time,  settled  down  again,  like 
a  covey  of  quail,  a  little  up  from  the  shore,  and 
under  the  shade  of  pine  boughs  whose  aroma  was 
so  pungent,  so  insinuating,  when  touched  by  the 
sea  air.  There  had  been  a  slight  fall  of  rain  the 
night  before,  just  enough  to  open  the  lips  of 
leaves  and  blossoms  for  the  drink  they  crave 
through  the  summer  months,  even  though  the 
wealth  of  the  sea  waves  creep  so  close  about  their 
feet.  Ah!  that  inborn  longing  of  all  things  in 
Nature!  that  raises  faces,  hopes,  longings,  ever 
upward.  That  would  place  wishes  among  the 
stars,  and  essay  climbing  through  space,  and  fail- 
ing, would  draw  the  thing  wished  for  down  to 
lower  levels!  The  same  principle  governs  souls 
and  the  leaves  that  spring  sunward. 

And  the  idle  group  drew  in  long  breaths  of  the 
salt  air  and  the  balsam,  and  chatted  indolently  to 
the  accompaniment  of  low,  rippling  waves,  and 
whispering  branches. 

"A  little  like  that  old  place  of  Holmes'  at 


GALEED.  155 

Elizabeth  City,"  remarked  Mr.  Hallet  as  Alison 
sauntered  toward  them.  "Just  the  same  sort  of 
water- view  from  that  old  lawn;  only  there,  one 
had  the  cypress  and  Spanish  moss  instead  of 
these  northern  trees,  a  crazy  old  building  that 
was.  Has  he  managed  to  keep  it?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  major,  as  he  turned 
puffing,  and  red  in  the  face  from  pushing  Grace 
and  the  boat  out  where  the  water  was  deep 
enough  for  her  to  paddle  around,  and  try  to  row. 
"Yes,  he  had  decency  enough  to  settle  that  on 
her;  though,  so  far,  she  has  had  too  much  pride  to 
live  in  it.  But  it  is  only  right  that  he  provide 
her  with  a  home  at  least.  I  think  Claude  Latante 
would  come  back  from  his  grave  to  set  things 
right  if  he  could  know  what  that  daughter  of  his 
has  had  to  live  through,  simply  because  of  her 
early  surroundings,  that  blinded  her  to  what  a 
woman's  life  should  be." 

"I  think  she  has  set  things  as  near  right  for 
herself  as  they  can  be  set  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Winans,  "only  it  has  all  changed  her  so  terri- 
bly." 

"Naturally,"  assented  Mr.  Hallet,  "I  never 
knew  her  or  her  family.  But  what  a  charming 
scamp  he  was  a  few  years  ago — ten  or  fifteen — 
with  his  half  Byronic  face,  and  his  impressive 
manner  that  was  a  flattery  to  every  woman  he 
whispered  to  or  smiled  at.  I  saw  him  in  Montreal 
last  summer  with  a  rather  dissipated  set,  and  a 
different  tone  to  his  manner.  He  is  going  down 
hill,  but  he  is  interesting  to  the  last." 


156  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"  Yes,  Holmes  had  a  nice  way  with  him,  a  con- 
foundedly nice  way,"  said  the  major,  slowly. 
"And,  in  some  respects,  was  mighty  taking." 

"He must  have  been,"  remarked  Mrs.  Winans, 
"when  he  took  to  abusing  his  wife." 

"Clara!"  admonished  her  husband,  "that  is 
not  a  comfortable  thing  to  speak  of,  and,  beside, 
it  is  something  one  can  only  have  the  word  of 
servants  for — she,  herself,  would  never  speak." 

"I  acknowledge  the  bad  taste  of  it,"  asserted 
his  wife,  "but  Mr.  Hallet  knows  his  story  pretty 
well,  and  as  to  Mr.  Alison  —  I  forgot  for  the 
moment;  but — 

"Please  feel  no  uneasiness  on  my  account," 
said  Alison,  hastily,  "  since  I  do  not  know  the 
man  you  speak  of." 

He  noticed  that  the  name  was  Holmes,  and 
thought  it  probably  some  relative  of  the  woman 
walking  away  down  along  the  beach  with  Tom 
Hallet.  Why  is  it  that  any  two  people,  even 
though  they  be  the  most  uncongenial,  if  they 
happen  to  walk  alone  together  along  a  sandy 
shore,  or  a  shady  road,  always  have  the  appear- 
ance of  lovers  to  an  onlooker? 

"And  to-day's  laziness  and  picnic  flavor," 
resumed  Mr.  Hallet,  "  some  way  reminded  me  of 
the  lawn  at  Holmes  Grove.  I  haven't  been  there 
since  the  war;  then  I  went  down  from  Fort 
Hampton  with  a  party  of  officers  and  put  in  a 
great  time  in  the  old  house — a  fine  old  place. 
His  father  was  living  then,  so  he  had  not  had 
a  chance  to  get  at  the  property." 


GALEED.  157 

"  When  lie  did,  lie  made  it  fly,"  said  the  major, 
and  then  turning  to  Alison:  "Have  you  ever 
been  down  through  tide-water  Virginia  or  the 
Carolinas?"  he  asked.  "Lots  of  material  there 
for  romance  writers,  I  should  say." 

"Not  yet;  it  is  a  trip  I  have  been  promising 
myself.  You  advise  the  coast  line?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  cut  across  the  swamps  and  get 
out  of  the  beaten  paths.  The  region  around  that 
old  town  we  were  speaking  of  is  full  of  quaint- 
ness,  and  some  of  the  homes  are  pictures — the  one 
at  Holmes  Grove  in  particular,  with  its  pink 
stuccoed  walls  covered  with  ivy,  and  shaded  by 
live  oaks,  and  you  could  quarter  a  regiment  in  its 
immense  rooms." 

"And  its  owner  is  an  acquaintance  of  yours?" 

"  Why,  yes.     It  is  Winnett  Holmes." 

Alison  had  a  queer  feeling  as  he  heard  the 
reply,  a  something  like  a  slight  shock,  as  he 
thought:  "Where  was  it  I  heard  that  name 
lately?  Somewhere — where?" 

And  then,  still  uncertain,  he  asked: 

"  A  relative  of  this  Mrs.  Holmes?"  and  it 
seemed  an  age  before  some  one  said: 

"Well,  yes.  A  relative  by  marriage.  He  is 
her  husband." 

He  did  not  know  who  said  it,  and  some  way  he 
dropped  out  of  the  conversation,  and  they  talked 
on,  while  he  lay  there  looking  lazy  and  half 
sleepy.  All  their  former  words  that  were  as 
Choctaw  before  had  now  a  meaning  to  him— 
and  such  a  meaning!  "  He  is  her  husband." 


158  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

Then  he  lived!  She  was  a  man's  wife!  How  he 
had  drifted  into  his  ideas  of  her  widowhood  he 
could  not  tell.  But,  after  seeing  her,  he  had  never 
once  been  able  to  associate  any  man' s  personality 
with  hers.  Even  when  assured  of  it  he  could  not 
bring  his  imagination  to  think  of  her  as  belong- 
ing to  anyone.  So  many  fogs  were  cleared  from 
his  vision  of  her  by  those  words  that  hummed 
through  his  ears  for  many  a  day:  "He  is  her 
husband."  He  could  understand  now  the  seri- 
ous, half -starved  soul  that  turned  to  an  unknown 
personality  for  the  sympathy  that  had  failed  her 
in  the  lives  brought  close  to  her  own.  He  could 
understand  the  sensitiveness  that  shrank  from 
meeting  him  on  the  footing  established  through 
their  letters.  The  fear  that  any  should  know  her 
story  and  know  also  that  the  indifference  she 
feigned  at  times  was  only  a  cover  for  a  lonely 
nature.  One  so  unconfessing  of  its  wants  that 
only  to  a  piece  of  paper  would  it  express  itself— 
a  piece  of  paper  that  was  as  a  journal  that 
responded,  that  returned  her  an  answer  from  one 
who  saw  only  her  mind — not  her  face,  and  whose 
human  eyes  she  had  thought  never  to  meet.  Ah, 
yes!  He  could  understand  it  all  now,  with  a  great 
wave  of  something  akin  to  tenderness  in  his 
thoughts  of  her.  Not  so  much  to  her — the 
woman — as  to  a  being  that  had  suffered;  that  had 
turned  to  him;  and  that,  in  a  degree  that  might 
be  small,  was  yet,  through  sympathy,  to  him  a 
possession.  And  then  his  thoughts  crept  nearer, 
to  their  first  meeting.  And  knowing  something 


GALEED.  159 

of  the  life  slie  had  lived,  he  could  see  how  she 
had  been  affected  by  that  scene  at  the  old  mill. 
He  had  helped  that  day  to  shatter  her  faith  in 
human  nature  just  as  that  other  man  had  shown 
her  the  lives  men  live. 

Yes,  it  all  seemed  so  plain  to  him  by  this  new 
light,  so  pitifully  plain  to  his  remorseful  eyes! 
But,  in  his  heart,  there  surged  a  determination  to 
make  it  all  up  to  her — to  prove  somehow  that  her 
belief  was  not  utterly  without  cause.  "  If  I  can 
only  try  to  be  worthy,"  was  the  one  thought 
uppermost,  as  he  lay  there  on  the  sands.  And  in 
his  desire  to  be  worthy,  he  scarcely  questioned 
the  cause  that  prompted  it. 

Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have  found  it  cen- 
tered in  an  emotion,  not  in  a  reason. 

What  reason  had  he  for  gladness  over  what  he 
had  heard?  What  reason  that  the  waves  sang 
calmly  in  rippling  promises  for  the  future  where, 
before,  they  had  only  murmured  softly  of  depths 
in  the  past?  Who  can  answer  for  the  tides  that 
govern  emotion? 

Sometimes  the  hand  of  God  touches  a  chord  in 
the  human  heart  through  which  the  music  of 
nature  thrills.  At  times  we  call  it  Religion,  Love, 
or  Genius,  according  to  the  moods  that  govern  it. 
It  is  the  touch  of  the  spirit  that  has  led  men  to 
sacrifice,  either  to  die  or  to  live  for  the  good  of 
others.  Call  it  what  we  may,  yet  the  cause  of 
all  has  a  touch  of  divinity. 

He  was  but  a  man,  with  the  passions  of  earth, 
and  the  commonplaces  of  life  usually  to  fill  his 


160  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

hours,  yet  something  of  that  higher  spirit  forged 
a  bond  between  himself  and  that  woman  that 
day — only  the  waves,  and  the  winds,  and  himself 
knew  it.  But  a  great  gladness  came  with  the 
knowledge  that  now  he  understood,  and  a  great 
determination  to  be  worthy  to  give  her  needed 
friendship.  No  one  else  knew  as  he  did — he  felt 
so  sure  of  that.  Poor  tired  heart  that  she  was! 
And  she  had  turned  to  him  once  with  the  hope  of 
easing  her  own  load  through  giving  help  to 
others!  Never  again  should  she  find  him  lacking. 
Never  again  should  he  add  any  hurt  to  the  life 
whose  hurts  had  been  so  deep. 

And  that  resolve  lightened  the  sky  for  him  that 
day,  and.  softened  all  tones  of  feeling,  until 
finally  he  arose  and  sauntered  down  along  the 
sands  alone.  The  closeness  of  even  the  most 
pleasant  of  friends  jarred  on  this  new  feeling 
that  had  come  to  him. 

His  ideas  were  not  connected  enough  to  be 
called  thought — they  were  merely  impressions. 
And  the  sea  and  the  sands  were  the  best  com- 
panions— they  absorb  all,  even  bits  of  broken, 
half  formed  speech.  And  they  tell  no  secrets  of 
the  living,  only  of  the  dead — sometimes. 

Down  around  a  bend  he  saw  Mrs.  Holmes  and 
Haliet  returning;  with  a  new  feeling  he  walked 
toward  them.  Haliet  had  a  kerchief  about  his 
neck,  and  another  in  his  hand  that  he  was  brand- 
ishing wildly.  "  Mosquitoes,"  he  said,  tersely; 
"they  have  followed  us  from  that  swamp  back 
there,  the  little  fiends!" 


GALEED.  161 

"And  you?"  Alison  asked,  turning  to  her. 

"Oh,  they  keep  away  from  Mrs.  Holmes  as 
if  she  were  poison,"  complained  Hallet,  in  an 
aggrieved  way,  at  which  the  other  two  laughed. 
But  it  was  a  serious  affair  to  poor  Tom,  all  the 
more  so  from  knowing  he  looked  ridiculous. 

"You  are  tired,"  said  Alison,  with  an  instinct- 
ive air  of  solicitude  in  his  manner.  She  looked 
up  quickly,  noting  the  new  tone. 

"Not  much,  only  the  wind  has  made  me  a  little 
drowsy,  I  think." 

"And  when  do  you  ever  intend  to  rest?"  It 
was  not  so  much  the  words  as  it  was  the  strange, 
new  tone  that  again  raised  her  eyes  to  his  in  a 
half -questioning  way.  But  she  made  no  reply, 
only  stooped  and  sent  a  pebble  skimming  low 
over  the  water. 

"But  you  can  not  fling  your  weariness  away 
so,"  he  remarked,  with  that  same  persistence  she 
had  at  first  noted  in  him,  and  coquetted  with. 
"  You  must  leave  that  tired  look  here  by  the  sea, 
and  absorb  instead  the  rest  that  your  work  will 
need." 

"  What  makes  you  lay  such  stress  on  my  well- 
being  all  at  once?"  she  asked,  directly. 

"  Why?  Well,  because  I  feel  that  your  friends 
should  lay  stress  on  it." 

She  did  not  answer;  did  not  even  raise  her  eyes 
this  time.  Something  in  this  new  manner  of  his 
checked  the  careless,  cynical  words  she  would 
have  uttered  an  hour  before.  Some  assertive 

spirit,  some  vague  strength  had  been  given  him 
11 


1G2  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

that  felt  itself  in  the  right  and  would  not  be  com- 
bated. Scarcely  knowing  why  she  did  so,  she 
found  herself  influenced  by  that  unexpressed 
force,  and  she  walked  in  silence  beside  him  back 
to  the  others. 

She  heard  him  tacitly  class  himself  among 
her  friends  without  any  rebellion  of  her  will  that 
had  seemed  on  the  defensive  against  him  for  so 
many  days  past.  Was  she  so  tired  with  work 
and  thought  that  she  had  no  will  left  to  surprise, 
or  was  she  only  careless. 

He  did  not  know,  and  he  felt  stubbornly  that 
he  did  not  care,  so  far  as  it  affected  himself — that 
she  should  never  drive  him  out  of  her  ken  again. 

Hallet,  still  fighting  mosquitoes,  had  surren- 
dered the  sun  umbrella  to  Alison,  and  stalked 
along  ahead  of  them  as  a  sort  of  courier,  his  white 
kerchief  still  waving. 

"  Who  are  you  flirting  with  so  outrageously?" 
called  Grace.  "Mosquitoes?  Tell  that  to  some 
other  fellow's  sister!  Mrs.  Holmes,  I'm  sur- 
prised that  you  allow  him  to  be  so  very  giddy. 
No  use  making  excuses.  Just  look  through  this 
glass  toward  that  old  pier  and  be  ashamed  of 
yourself." 

Tom  growlingly  took  the  glass  and  growlingly 
handed  it  back.  Sure  enough,  a  party  of  girls, 
armed  with  fishing  tackle,  were  waving  white 
handkerchiefs  frantically  in  the  direction  of  the 
group  on  the  sands.  They  had  mistaken  Tom's 
pantomime  and  thought  the  waving  of  his  hands  a 
signal  to  themselves. 


GALEED.  163 

Amid  the  general  laughter  and  the  teasing  of 
Grace  they  reembarked,  and  moved  their  boat 
slowly  through  the  waters  that  had  grown  still 
in  the  light  of  the  sun  that  was  far  aslant. 
Around  a  great  bend  they  half  drifted,  first  one 
and  then  another  touching  the  oars  lazily,  while 
across  the  water  from  the  fisher-girls  came  strains 
of  "  Good-bye,  my  Lover,  Good-bye." 

The  older  people,  even  the  major,  had  talked 
themselves  a  little  tired,  and  enjoyed  the  quiet 
that  had  fallen  over  the  water.  Tom's  eyes, 
despite  mosquito  bites,  did  persist  in  turning  back 
to  those  forms  on  the  old  pier — masculine  human 
nature,  and  twenty- two  years  of  age! 

Grace,  inspired  no  doubt  by  those  other  voices, 
began  humming  bits  of  song  in  an  undertone, 
and  then,  emboldened  a  little  by  the  silence  that 
suggested  attention,  she  gave  a  wider  range  to  the 
indistinct  bits,  and  in  a  voice  really  fine,  and 
possessed  of  more  expression  than  is  generally 
given  to  youth,  she  sang  "  Twickenham  Ferry," 
and  passed  from  its  brightness  and  jingle  to 
quieter  airs  attuned  to  the  silvery  tones  of  the 
evening. 

Mrs.  Holmes,  in  the  bow,  looked  a  little  like 
the  figure-head  of  a  craft,  her  face  straight  ahead 
— only  the  warm  curve  of  neck  and  cheek  seen 
by  the  others.  But  even  the  soft  outlining  of 
drapery  about  the  unconscious  form  had  a  new 
beauty  to  Alison  as  he  watched  her. '  He  could 
not  imagine  her  being  anything  but  graceful — 
with  the  grace  that  does  not  depend  on  pose,  but 


IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

is  innate  in  some  bodies  as  expression  is  in  some 
eyes. 

"You  sing  beautifully,"  she  said,  turning  to 
the  girl.  "Mr.  Hallet,  you  should  not  neglect 
the  cultivation  of  a  voice  like  that." 

"I  am  afraid  to  humor  her  in  it,"  he  replied, 
"lest  the  music  turn  a  master  in  our  family,  and 
I  have  a  tyrannical  fondness  for  being  master 
myself." 

"I  think  that  he  is  afraid  I  will  be  an  opera- 
singer,"  answered  Grace;  "that's  what's  the 
matter  with  papa;  and  I  will  if  I  can  get  any  in- 
fluence from  my  friends  to  help  me;  some  one  of 
whom  he  has  the  very  highest  opinion.  If  Mrs. 
Holmes  would  only  put  in  an  oar — I  mean  a  word, 
now  and  then,  and  be  just  a  little  nice  to  him, 
even  flirt  with  him  in  moderation,  you  might  help 
me  to  win  the  prize,  for  he  is  perfectly  devoted  to 
you." 

"Just  give  me  a  chance  to  say  that  part  of  it 
for  myself,"  suggested  her  father. 

"I  would,"  continued  the  incorrigible,  "but 
papa's  timidity  is  his  strong  point — oh,  yes  it  is," 
she  insisted,  in  return  to  the  laughter  of  the 
others;  "mamma  told  me  she  had  to  do  half  the 
courting;  she  was  like  me,  you  know,  and  didn't 
mind  it." 

"No,"  put  in  her  brother;  "I  doubt  if  you 
would  mind  it." 

"But  Fra  Lippo  knows  that  I  can  be  very  cor- 
rect," she  said,  turning  to  him  for  proof.  "He 
knows  I  can  chaperon  myself  famously,  and  the 


GALEED.  165 

other  girls  as  well,  and  lie  has  seen  me  under — 
well,  circumstances." 

"And  opposite  a  mirror,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  memory 
and  roguishness,  "and  I  remember  where  some- 
body's eyes  wandered  to  in  that  mirror — but  I 
won't  tell,"  she  added,  quickly,  as  his  hand  was 
raised  ever  so  slightly. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  remarked  Tom,  "girls 
always  tell;  so  you  had  better  speak  out  and  get  it 
off  your  conscience.  And  if  it  was  Alison's  eyes, 
I  wish  you  would  use  your  knowledge  and  unmask 
him  to  Mrs.  Winans.  I  used  to  be  a  thing  of 
beauty,  and  altogether  lovely  in  her  eyes,  until 
she  fished  him  out  of  the  sea  down  here,  and  I 
have  been  sent  to  the  shades  ever  since." 

Tom  was  a  big,  manly-looking  fellow,  but  his 
straight  red  hair,  and  his  freckles,  that  would 
reach  a  degree  of  prominence  startling  to  behold, 
rather  debarred  him  from  being  classed  among 
things  of  beauty.  And  in  the  impression  caused 
by  his  ludicrous  complaint,  the  subject  of  it  was 
forgotten,  unless  by  Grace,  who  was  retrospective. 

"Don't  you  think  it  all  very  strange,"  she  con- 
tinued, "our  meeting  there  at  Oyster  Bay,  and 
none  of  us  knowing  each  other,  and  then  meeting 
here  and  being  such  chums?  Why,  the  girls  and  I 
wondered  for  days  who  Mrs.  Holmes  was;  and 
when  the  Major  and  Mrs.  Winans  came,  and  we 
found  she  was  an  old  friend  of  theirs,  oh,  how 
delighted  I  was,"  she  said,  giving  the  figure-head 
in  the  boat  a  little  squeeze  on  the  arm.  "  And 


1(3(5  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

then  there  was  Fra  Lippo,  who  looked  down  on 
us  for  just  two  days,  and  then  left  us  in  a  halo  of 
delicious  doubt,  and  a  sort  of  Captain  Kidd 
atmosphere." 

"  Are  you  not  getting  a  little  mixed?"  suggested 
Tom.  "  Fra  Lippo,  Captain  Kidd,  and  Mr.  Alison, 
you  should  sue  her  for  defamation  of  character." 

"  No,  I  am  not  mixed.  Captain  Kidd  really  did 
belong  to  this  island  once,  and  would  appear  and 
disappear  in  the  most  delightfully  mysterious 
way,  and  leave  treasure  buried  in  the  coves." 

"But  Mr.  Alison  leaves  no  buried  treasure  on 
our  shores  does  he?"  queried  Mrs.  Holmes,  with- 
out turning  her  head. 

"No,"  he  answered,  as  carelessly;  "I  have 
come  to  find  it." 

"And  you  find  us,"  supplemented  Grace— 
"there  is  a  compliment  for  us,  if  we  want  to  twist 
our  imagination  to  fit  it." 

"And  yours  is  equal  to  the  emergency," 
laughed  her  father;  "you  should  try  to  utilize  it 
in  romance  writing." 

"  I  will  when  Fra  Lippo  wants  a  literary  part- 
ner," said  Grace,  audaciously.  "But  until  then, 
I  will  have  to  conjure  up  romances,  or  sing  only 
for  my  own  amusement." 

"Aiid  for  our  pleasure,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes, 
kindly. 

"You  are  a  good  soul,"  said  Grace,  appreci- 
atively; "you  always  put  one  in  good  humor 
with  one's  self,  and  I  shall  pay  you  in  the  best 
coin  I've  got." 


GALEED.  167 

"  And  make  her  sorry  she  spoke,"  added  Tom 
with  brotherly  candor,  and  a  last  glance  at  the 
nymphs  on  the  old  pier  as  their  boat  veered 
around  a  point,  and  gave  them  new  scenes,  new 
lights  and  shadows  in  the  water.  But  Grace 
unheeding  the  irony  of  the  speech  gave  to  Mrs. 
Holmes  her  promised  pay  in  song. 

In  the  semi-circle  of  the  harbor,  lay  the  little 
town  ahead  of  them,  backed  by  its  rolling  hills 
over  which  the  sun  shot  lances  of  light  that  spar- 
kled Hame-like  on  western  windows. 

Away  out  the  light-house  shone  white  in  its 
setting  of  shimmering  opal,  and  around  them 
silver  and  rose  seemed  to  bathe  in  the  ever  trem- 
ulous surface  of  the  bay,  all  change,  all  glitter 
and  glimmer;  but  all  peace  was  the  impression 
given  by  that  minor  key  of  color  on  which  the 
girl's  voice  fell  in  unison,  echoing  the  wistfulness 
of  "Some  Day"  with  a  pathos  that  left  at  least 
one  person  in  the  boat  touched  by  the  meaning 
in  it. 

"  Our  hearts — our  hands  shall  meet — some  day." 

With  the  plaintiveness  of  that  half-hope,  and 
the  music  of  it  there  was  ever  after  to  Alison's 
ears  coupled  the  soft  dip  of  caressing  oars — the 
fresh  atmosphere  of  the  sea — and  the  face  of  a 
woman  drooping  low  over  the  bow  of  the  boat; 
was  it  only  to  watch  her  own  broken  image  in 
the  waves?  or  was  it  with  the  weight  of  certainty 
that  her  life  was  lived — was  put  beyond  the  pale 
of  longing  hands,  or  the  endearing  of  any  heart 
that  would  bring  with  it  content. 


168  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

The  boat  grated  on  the  sand,  and  as  Alison 
stopped  to  put  up  the  meadow  bars,  Mrs.  Holmes 
spoke  to  him  in  a  slightly  constrained  way: 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  implied  friendship,"  she 
said.  "After  all,  one  can  not  afford  to  ignore 
friendly  intents;  life  holds  too  few  of  them. 
That  sounds  selfish,  though  I  do  not  feel  so.  I 
think  the  evening  and  Oracle's  music  has  left  an 
atmosphere  that  breathes  of  peace  and  good- will 
toward  our  neighbors;  it  is  resistless." 

And  thus  the  evening  fell,  and  two  natures, 
someway,  without  a  visible  cause,  left  a  barrier 
buried  in  the  sands,  or  washed  in  the  waves  of 
the  far  shore. 


CHAPTER 

Am  I  not  like  to  thee? 
The  like  may  sway  the  like. 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 

"Yes,  if  I  had  known  you  personally  instead 
of  knowing  you  by  letter  we  would  never  have 
known  each  other  so  well,"  she  said,  a  few  days 
later,  when  they  had  got  a  little  used  to  this  more 
even  tenor  of  acquaintanceship. 

"  That  is  rather  an  anomalous  statement,  is  it 
not?  It  makes  one  curious  as  to  the  reason." 

"  I  am  not  sure  there  is  a  reason,  unless  it  is 
that  —  have  you  ever  read  Daudet's  article  on 
Rochefort?" 

"Unless  it  is  that — have  I  ever  read  Daudet?" 


GALEED.  169 

he  repeated.  "That  sounds  like  an  attempt  at 
Dutch  dialect." 

And  then  they  laughed,  happy  people — as  sym- 
pathetic people  laugh  at  such  little  things;  just 
as  it  is  the  little  waves  that  catch  the  arrows  of 
the  sun' s  flame  and  give  back  to  us  far-reaching 
vistas  of  glory. 

"I  mean  that  I  may  explain  by  an  illustration 
of  his.  Roche  fort  writing  under  his  own  name 
was  constrained  and  conventional;  but  for  a  lark 
he  wrote  some  articles  under  the  name  of  a  friend, 
when  it  was  discovered  that  once  left  unbound  by 
the  sense  of  his  own  personality  he  was  enabled 
to  write  matter  with  so  much  daring  and  orig- 
inality, that  at  once,  from  an  unknown  journal- 
ist, he  became  a  personage." 

"And  you  think  personal  knowledge  would 
have  fettered  the  thoughts  you  expressed  to  me 
through  ink  and  paper?" 

"Certainly.  I  could  not  have  looked  squarely 
in  your  face  and  been  so  presumptuous  as  to  find 
fault  with  or  criticise  your  work,  so  I  took  the 
mean  advantage  of  doing  it  and  keeping  myself 
hidden.  You  see,  sometimes  one's  imagination 
needs  food  for  expression,  and  in  a  moment  of 
that  mental  desperation,  I  seized  on  your  poor 
book,  dissected  it,  and  advocated  a  higher 
standard  of  work,  even  though  the  ones  you 
had  were  higher  than  I  could  have  kept  up  to 
myself." 

"I  think  not,"  he  said  decidedly,  "  your  ideals 
are  higher  than  mine;  I  know  it  because  those 


170  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

letters  of  yours  brought  back  to  me  the  purer 
ones  of  a  half-forgotten  boyhood,  the  sort  of 
ideals  that  grow  rather  dim  and  rusty  in  our  later 
days — so  far  away  that  our  eyes  can  barely  see 
their  forms." 

'  'So  long  as  one  can  see  them  at  all  there  is  hope, ' ' 
she  answered  slowly.  "  It  is  only  when  they  are 
dashed  down  in  ruins  about  one' s  feet  that  hope 
dies  out  and  despair  takes  its  place,  and  nothing 
supersedes  that." 

"  If  I  said  so  you  would  tell  me  that  resigna- 
tion could  help  to  do  so,  and  in  its  wake  would 
come  peace,"  he  said,  drifting  into  her  owTn  mnn- 
ner  of  speech.  They  were  silent  for  a  little  while 
looking  out  over  the  meadows  and  the  bay.  She 
said  nothing,  and  he,  watching  her,  wished  that 
just  for  once  he  could  see  a  light  in  her  eyes 
that  was  not  transitory,  a  content  that  was  not 
fleeting. 

' '  You  have  known  those  broken  ideals  so  well '{ ' ' 
he  said  at  last.  "  You  are  young  to  speak  with 
that  conviction  as  of  experience." 

"I  have  had  much  that  the  world  would  call 
experience,"  she  answered  in  that  same  low, 
slow  way,  "if  by  the  word  you  mean  enduring 
through  many  phases  of  life  and  thought — ah, 
the  thoughts!  Do  you  know,  I  think  it  is  the 
thoughts  and  their  effects  that  are  hardest  to  live 
through;  harder  even  than  the  realities  are  the 
scourges  of  the  imagination." 

"To  the  imaginative,  yes,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
turning  away  from  her  face  that  had  grown  pained 


GALEED.  171 

as  if  from  memories.  "Do  you  know,"  he  went 
on,  "I  think  you  have  lived  too  much  alone, 
too  much  in  yourself.  You  have  given  only 
the  careless  side  of  your  nature  to  your  social 
friends." 

She  smiled  again  at  that.  "I  give  them  only 
what  they  want,"  she  answered.  "In  society 
people  are  acquaintances,  seldom  friends — I  found 
it  so,  but  it  depends  much  on  oneself,  I  suppose. 
If  one  has  nothing  to  give  in  exchange  one  can 
expect  nothing,  and  when  society  and  I  were  on 
bowing  terms  those  broken  ideals  had  fallen  into 
a  chaos  about  me,  and  over  them  I  could  not  see 
very  clearly,  and  so — well,  I  found  an  old  house 
in  North  Carolina,  and  an  old  servant  who  loved 
me — a  good  exchange  I  have  never  regretted." 

Her  eyes  wide-earnest  turned  to  him  as  she 
spoke.  How  clear  they  were!  How  easily  asso- 
ciated with  all  ideas  of  purity!  He  thought  in 
a  disjointed  way  of  white  violets  with  the  dew 
still  on  them,  of  summer  seas  in  the  virginity  of 
dawn.  He  could  imagine  her  as  stepping  with 
untainted  garments  from  out  that  moral  wreck 
that  had  so  nearly  encompassed  her.  He  could 
see  her  so  clearly  back  in  that  old  home  trying  to 
gather  up  the  broken  threads  of  girlish  life  over 
again,  and  through  all  the  heart  aches,  yet  the 
wistful  determination  of  sufficiency  unto  herself 
— an  unspoken  vow  of  isolation  that  no  sympathy 
had  been  strong  enough  to  break. 

Comparisons  are  odious  often,  but  something 
akin  to  them  came  uncalled  to  him  as  he  watched 


172  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

her.  He  had  known  so  many  of  the  loves  of 
life,  and  this  was  only  a  friendship;  yet  back  into 
the  past  the  rest  crowded  as  into  a  night.  And 
of  himself,  some  words  of  the  book  his  mother 
had  trusted  in  came  to  him;  some  words  of  "a 
light  that  shineth  in  a  dark  place  until  the  day 
dawn,  and  the  day  star  arise  in  your  hearts." 

Scarcely  even  gathering  his  impressions  into 
collected  thought,  he  yet  felt  dimly  that  the  dark- 
ness had  been  long,  and  that  the  day  star  that 
rose  sweetest  and  clearest  in  the  hearts  of  men 
was  friendship. 

Her  beauty  had  not  appealed  to  him  as  it  had 
done  at  first  when  she  had  seemed  alternately  a 
Francesca  and  a  Mona  Lisa.  The  story  he  had 
heard  that  day  on  the  beach  had  given  such  a  dif- 
ferent tinge  to  his  interest  in  her. 

He  could  scarcely  tell  the  color  of  her  eyes, 
though  he  saw  always  the  sadness  in  them  that 
the  laughing  mouth  tried  so  often  to  contradict. 
He  found  himself  wishing  that  Blanche  knew 
her,  at  least  he  told  himself  that  he  wished  it. 
And  then  again  he  could  not  think  of  any  other 
personality  taken  into  that  half  compact  of  theirs 
without  jarring  on  the  tone  of  it. 

Into  the  old  burial  ground  of  the  village  they 
strolled  on  their  first  walk  alone. 

"  I  can  seldom  pass  one,  especially  an  old  one, 
without  going  in,"  she  said,  in  extenuation  of  her 
wandering  feet.  * '  You  see,  at  my  old  home  many 
of  the  tombs  are  very  old  and  very  picturesque. 
All  the  people  who  cared  most  for  me  are  under 


GALEED.  173 

the  myrtles  there,  and  the  myrtle  means  rest  to 
me  north  or  south." 

"The  myrtles  mean  love,  do  they  not?"  he 
asked.  "  I  think  they  are  given  that  meaning  by 
the  poets." 

"  The  poets  are  wiser  than  we  plodders,"  she 
returned;  "they  know  that  love  and  death  go 
hand  in  hand,  so  they  give  the  significance  of  the 
affections  to  the  vine  of  the  graves.9' 

"That  seems  wrong,"  he  contested;  "love 
should  have  some  symbol  of  life,  of  unchangeable 
existence." 

"You  think  so,"  she  smiled;  "that  is  the 
desire  of  us  grasping  human  beings.  But  the 
Fates  know  better." 

"  The  Fates,  you  believe  in  them?" 

"  In  the  Fates,  or  the  gods,  or  whatever  rules; 
they  know  that  if  love  was  made  unchangeable 
on  earth,  undying,  that  paradise  would  have  no 
allurements  left  for  humanity." 

"  It  means  so  much  to  you?"  he  asked  abruptly, 
surprised  at  her  decided  statement,  and  feeling  in 
a  queer  sort  of  way  that  love  must  be  known  to 
be  analyzed  from  that  point  of  view,  and  it  gave 
a  bit  of  sharpness  to  his  tone  as  he  said,  "it 
means  so  much  to  you?" 

"I think  it  means  God,"  she  answered,  "and 
that  only  glimpses  are  given  to  souls  here. 
Then  death,  or  change,  comes.  But  after  a  soul 
has  known  the  fullness  of  love  on  earth,  God 
must  always  after  that  be  nearer;  the  promises  of 
Heaven  must  mean  as  much  more,  because  the 


174  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

eyes  have  seen,  and  the  heart  has  in  part  proved 
the  prophecies." 

"  And  they  could  ever  imagine  her  an  atheist?" 
he  thought,  with  a  little  impatience,  "but  after 
all  they  can  not  know  her  as  I  do." 

But  close  on  that  conviction,  with  its  vague, 
sweet  tinge  of  possession,  there  came  a  somber 
wonder  if  some  one  some  time  had  taught  her  that 
meaning  of  God,  if,  after  all,  it  was  that  change  that 
had  left  her  eyes  sad.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing 
more  to  be  said.  Her  words  had  ended  that  sub- 
ject, but  to  him,  at  least,  the  words  were  suggest- 
ive of  much  thought,  and  in  silence  he  stooped  to 
gather  some  of  the  azure  starred  blossoms  that 
had  led  him  to  revelations. 

"  So  here  I  have  found  you,"  said  the  chirpy 
voice  of  Mrs.  Winans  behind  them;  "  we  saw  you 
through  the  gateway.  What  a  place  to  bring  up 
in!  and  upon  my  word,  gathering  myrtles  with 
Mrs.  Holmes." 

"No,  I  gather  them  alone,  and  I  give  them  to 
you,"  he  returned,  and  the  old  lady  wore  them  in 
pleased  appreciation  of  the  attention  Alison  never 
failed  to  give  her,  and,  wearing  them,  never 
guessed  how  the  blood  had  quickened  in  the  lin- 
gers that  plucked  them,  or  how  strange  his  voice 
sounded  in  his  own  ears  as  he  answered  her,  in 
tones  from  which  the  earnestness  was  dropped 
with  a  sense  of  loss. 

"It  is  like  falling  back  to  earth,"  was  the 
thought  that  came  to  him  as  he  hailed  the 
major,  made  a  whip  of  willow  branches  for 


GALEED.  175 

Grace,  and  walked  back  to  the  house  with  Mrs. 
Winans. 

Even  to  himself  he  did  not  think  to  say  from 
where. 

But  that  evening  when  some  of  them  were  plan- 
ning an  excursion  for  the  next  day,  he  said  to  her: 

"  We  must  try  to  find  some  place  with  life  and 
light  in  it.  Our  first  walk  alone  was  to  a  grave- 
yard, if  one  was  superstitious  they  would  no 
doubt  think  that  an  evil  augury." 

"lam  superstitious,"  she  replied,  "but  I  am 
not  oppressed  with  evil  forebodings  because  of 
that." 

"You!  Judith?"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  in  aston- 
ishment. "  I  never  imagined  you  superstitious." 

"Perhaps  because  we  have  never  happened  to 
speak  of  the  subject,"  returned  Mrs.  Holmes, 
quietly;  "but  lean  imagine  no  religion  in  the 
mind  of  one  who  has  no  superstition!" 

"Why,  Judith!  what  a  singular  view  to  take," 
said  Mrs  Winans,  a  little  weakly;  while  Alison 
stood  looking  straight  out  at  the  few  lights  glit- 
tering on  the  night  waters,  but  his  ears  always 
open  to  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  so  curious,  it  seems  only 
natural,  at  least  to  me  it  is,"  she  replied;  "the 
two  can  not  be  separated;  each  is  a  belief  in  the 
supernatural — in  the  power  of  things  unseen  by 
human  eyes." 

"But  hang  it,  little  captain!"  burst  out  the 
major,  "  ideas  of  that  sort  smack  so  strongly  of 
the  table-tipping  order  of  things  whose  devotees 


176  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

have  to  hunt  around  so  often  for  bail  in  the  dis- 
trict courts.  Don't  muddle  your  brain  with  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  am  very  much  muddled,  and 
as  to  the  spiritualists'  religion,  I  have  never  been 
in  one  of  their  churches  or  places  of  meeting  in 
my  life,  yet  if  they  believe  in  the  Christ,  as  I 
understand  they  do,  what  matter  if  He  is  termed 
by  them  a  medium,  or  the  Son  of  God?  It  does 
not  alter  the  fact  of  the  message  which  Christians 
believe  He  brought  from  His  Father,  and  without 
superstition  we  never  would  have  believed  that 
message." 

"  But  Judith,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Winans;  "it 
is  not  superstition  that  gives  belief  in  the  Bible 
and  the  coming  of  the  Son,  it  is  Christian 
faith." 

"  But  that  is  no  more  proof,  it  is  no  more  tangi- 
ble than  the  thing  you  call  superstition,"  returned 
the  younger  woman.  "And  somewhere  in  the 
book  of  Hebrews  there  is  a  definition  of  that  word 
faith.  It  says:  '  Faith  is  the  substance  of  things 
hoped  for — the  evidence  of  things  not  seen.' 
Now,  what  else  is  superstition,  except  that  it 
believes  it  sees?" 

"  I  really  can  not  argue  on  that  or  any  other 
question,"  confessed  Mrs.  Winans.  "I  always 
remember  next  day  the  things  I  might  have  said 
on  my  side.  But  superstition  has  always  seemed 
so  weak  to  me." 

"  Yet  many  people  who  are  not  weak  have 
believed  in  the  supernatural.  You  see,"  she 


GALEED.  177 

said,  turning  half  laughing  to  Alison,  "I  have 
quite  a  line  of  ancestors  who  have  lived  and  lis- 
tened to  the  Banshees  in  the  bogs  of  Ireland,  to 
say  nothing  of  seeing  the  '  wee  folks  who  dance 
in  the  moonlight  o'  nights  and  put  spells  on  the 
yield  of  the  best  milch  cow '  for  a  prank,  some- 
times. Oh,  yes,  it  would  be  tine  times  that  be 
come  to  the  world  if  one  didn't  stand  by  their 
forefathers." 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  the  major,  at  the  touch 
of  brogue  given  her  words.  "Your  father  was  of 
English  and  French  parentage." 

"Yes,  poor  papa!  I  think  it  was  the  mixture 
of  antagonistic  blood  in  him  that  always  kept  him 
harrassed  so,  either  for  himself  or  other  people. 
His  French  impulse  was  always  kicking  over  the 
traces  of  his  English  caution  and  getting  him  into 
discredit  with  himself." 

"But  that  gives  you  no  Irish  blood,"  said  the 
major. 

"And  do  you  think  I  only  had  one  parent?" 
she  retorted.  "  Where  would  I  get  the  name  of 
Judith,  if  not  from  an  Irish  mother?" 

"Yes,  it  is  the  one  thing  about  you  that  does 
not  seem  quite  right,"  said  Grace,  snuggling  up 
to  her  in  what  the  major  termed  an  insinuating 
sort  of  way.  "  Judith  Latante?  Yes,  that  sounds 
well  enough,  but  the  first  Judith  was  a  sort  of 
blood  and  thunder  executioner — a  melodramatic 
character.  Now,  you  are  not  a  bit  like  that." 

"But  you  see  they  did  not  know  what  I  might 

be  capable  of  when  I  was  born,"  smiled  Judith; 
12 


178  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"and  you  do  not  know  yet,  because  I  have  not 
died." 

"Judith  was  not  melodramatic,"  remarked 
Alison;  "the  book  is  a  tragic  poem." 

"That  sounds  nicer  than  my  idea,"  assented 
Grace.  "  Yes,  I  could  fancy  you  either  tragic  or 
poetical.  I  remember  when  I  first  saw  you;  I 
thought  you  looked  like  Lucille." 

Alison  wondered  if  she  impressed  every  one 
with  that  likeness  to  ideal  characters  —  all  so 
widely  different — yet  all  linked  to  herself  with 
the  subtle  bonds  of  beauty  or  spirituality,  by  that 
something  that  makes  us  see  the  thoughts  of 
poets  of  the  past,  materialized  and  looking  at  us 
clearly  through  the  eyes  of  some  present. 

"I  think  you  could  live  Judith's  life,"  he  said 
to  her  as  Grace  sauntered  down  with  the  major 
for  some  cigars  in  the  village,  and  Mrs.  Winans 
was  chatting  inside  the  parlor  with  the  landlady. 

"You  think  so?  But  Judith  was  a  model  of 
piety.  I  am  not  pious." 

"  No,  but  you  are  religious.  You  show  that  in 
all  you  do  and  say,  in  all  your  influence  on  others. 
Please  do  not  smile.  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  know 
why  you  doubt,  but  some  time,  if  you  would  but 
listen,  I  could  feel  like  speaking  to  you  of  that." 

"  It  does  not  matter,  why  should  you?" 

Neither  seemed  to  think  then  how  that  remark 
of  hers  granted  an  understanding  of  what  his 
thoughts  were,  that  first  subtle  touch  of  a  spirit, 
all  ages  have  been  shaped  by. 

"Because  I  know  that,  in  several  ways,  I  am  in 


OALEED.  179 

a  false  light  to  you.  All  of  us  are  bad  enough.  But 
I  would  like  you  to  know  that  —  well,  many 
things.  I — have  you  been  told  that  I  am  to  be 
married  before  very  long?" 

"No,"  she  said.  Only  that — no  comment,  no 
question,  and  drew  a  white  shawl  from  about  her 
waist  up  about  her  throat. 

He  did  not  know  whether  that  monosyllable 
meant  unconcern,  or  whether  her  own  bonds  had 
made  even  the  subject  distasteful. 

"I  thought  perhaps  Mr.  Hallet  had  mentioned 
it  to  you.  He  knows  the  lady.  I  thought  I 
wanted  you  to  know." 

"Yes." 

It  was  a  kind  assent,  a  sort  of  permission  to  go 
on.  But  it  was  not  the  sort  of  response  needed 
to  make  a  man  very  communicative;  it  was  a  gra- 
cious tolerance. 

She  was  sitting  with  one  arm  around  the  post 
of  the  verandah.  Her  face  leaning  against  the 
white  wood  was  outlined  in  profile  perfectly  clear 
in  the  starlight.  So  close,  his  outstretched  hand 
could  have  touched  knee  or  shoulder.  Yet  all  at 
once  she  seemed  as  far  removed  from  him  in  spirit 
as  the  light-house  down  the  bay,  where  her  eyes 
were  looking. 

"Because  your  influence,  your  letters  made  me 
think  of  those  bonds  more  seriously  than  either 
she  or  I  had  thought  of  them  before,"  he  con- 
tinued; "  and  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  if  earn- 
est happiness  ever  comes  to  us,  it  will  have  been 
through  your  good  help  to  me." 


180  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

k '  To  you  and  your — wife?' '  She  changed  neither 
her  glance  nor  her  tone,  her  face  as  expressionless 
as  if  she  had  not  heard. 

"Yes,"  to  both.  "  Because  you  gave  me  the 
desire  to  be  worthy  of  a  wife's  regard,  and  that 
is,  I  think,  one  of  the  first  steps  toward  happi- 
ness for  two  people;  do  you  not  think  so?  It 
means  beginning  life  over  again,  with  a  laudable 
object  to  work  for." 

She  did  not  reply  to  that  query;  women  are 
curious  compounds.  It  is  said  of  them  that  they 
never  care  to  hear  a  love  story,  unless  it  is  of  a 
love  for  themselves.  Her  silence  brought  that 
idea  flitting  across  his  mind.  But  it  was  such  an 
incongruity  when  applied  to  her,  that  he  dismissed 
it  with  a  half  impatience  toward  himself.  It 
would  not  have  appeared  such  an  improbable 
thought  of  any  other  woman.  But  of  her! 

He  wondered  if  she  was  going  to  say  anything, 
or  whether  she  was  too  little  interested  for  com- 
ment. Directly,  however,  she  spoke,  and  both 
the  words  and  her  tone  had  a  curious  ring. 

'•  Then  you  have  discussed  me,  discussed  my 
letters  and  thoughts  with — your  wife? " 

"  Yourself,  yes;  the  subjects  of  our  letters,  no. 
Their  effects  are  all  she  has  seen.  But  why  do 
you  say  '  wife '  in  that  manner?  She  is  not  my 
wife  until  we  are  married." 

4<  No! "  and  she  smiled  a  little — not  a  very 
mirthful  smile.  "Does  the  bond  of  marriage 
depend,  then,  on  ceremony  alone?" 

The  question  gave  him  a  little  shock— a  queer 


GALEED.  181 

feeling  as  if  some  one  was  sitting  in  judgment  on 
his  emotions  that  should  be  holy,  and  that  had 
been  only  amusing — that  had  vibrating  through 
it  ever  the  empty  tinkle  of  cymbals,  not  the 
music  of  nature  attuned  by  the  touch  of  divinity. 

Why  was  it  that  so  often  she  had  the  faculty 
of  showing  him  with  a  word,  a  glance,  some  lack 
in  himself  that  had  never  made  itself  so  plain 
through  his  own  visage?  Too  subtle  for  analysis 
were  the  impressions  borne  to  him  by  that  tone. 
He  knew  only  that  they  sent  the  blood  with  a 
little  shiver  to  his  heart  at  a  wild,  half -formed 
thought  of  what  marriage  might  mean  to  a  man, 
a  marriage  such  as  her  words  suggested.  For  a 
moment  he  closed  his  eyes  at  the  mere  idea;  but 
back  of  the  shut  lids  there  was  photographed  a 
clearly-marked  profile  of  a  serious  face — a  face 
with  eyes  as  pure  as  the  stars — eyes  that  looked 
at  him  from  so  great  a  height — and  just  then  it 
seemed  as  if  the  light  in  their  depths  must  shine 
always  through  his  life. 

All  those  mad  fancies  chased  through  his  brain 
— all  witcheries  unbound  by  the  closeness  of  the 
cool  face  with  its  full  red  lips  against  which  her 
finger  rested  ever  so  slightly.  All  at  once  he  felt 
a  blunt  inclination  to  say:  "Why  are  you  at 
times  so  beautiful  to  me?  or,  being  beautiful, 
why  do  you  stand  so  alone  from  other  women, 
and  on  a  pedestal  a  man's  arms  dare  not  touch? 
Be  a  little  more  human;  faulty  enough  to  under- 
stand imperfections  in  others." 

But  fast  as  those  unspeakable  thoughts  flitted 


1S2  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

through  his  brain,  yet  the  silence  between  them 
appeared  endless,  at  least  to  him,  and  when  he 
spoke  none  would  imagine  that  his  unuttered 
thoughts  were:  "Give  me  your  hands;  lean  to- 
ward me!  For  once  let  me  look  at  you  from  the 
pillow  of  your  breast! " 

But  he  said  instead:  "Marriage  should  mean 
more  than  the  mere  ceremony  your  tone  decries. 
But  to  look  on  oneself  as  a  part  in  the  ideal  mar- 
riage, one  must  first  feel  himself  worthy — he  must 
feel  purified  from  the  reekings  of  the  world.  I 
am  sadly  lacking  in  that  excellence." 

"Does  she  think  so?"  The  question  was  evi- 
dently one  of  impulse,  for  in  an  instant  she 
added:  "  Pardon  me!  do  not  answer  that.  It  was 
a  thoughtless  question;  it  is  nothing  to  me." 

"But  I  would  rather  think  it  is  something  to 
you,"  he  said,  quietly;  "that  is  if  you  do  not 
object.  If  you  could  only  make  up  your  mind 
to  give  me  even  a  little  of  the  notice  personally 
that  you  used  to  give  to  my  work." 

"I  give  it  to  your  work  still,"  she  said,  in  a 
kind  tone.  "  But  I  think  I  felt  from  your  letters 
that  you  were  more  alone,  that  you  needed  help 
and  interest  more  than  I  find  you  do." 

"I  do  need  them,"  he  said,  rising,  and  walking 
to  the  far  end  of  the  verandah.  A  moment  he 
stood  there,  and  then  came  back,  stopping  and 
looking  down  at  her.  She  had  not  moved;  what 
a  faculty  she  had  of  making  a  statue  of  herself 
in  more  ways  than  one! 

I  think,"  he  continued,  "that  I  shall  always 


.. 


GALEED.  183 

need  them,  and  to-night  I  have  a  wish  that  you 
were  either  my  sister  or  my  brother.  Can  you 
understand  that?" 

"  Yes,  I  can;"  and  for  the  first  time  she  looked 
up  at  him  frankly. 

"If  you  were,  do  you  know  what  I  would  want 
to  do  to-night?"  he  asked,  "to  go  with  you  some- 
where from  the  world,  to  let  the  wind-sprites  skim 
our  boat  out  of  the  ken  of  the  commonplace,  and 
into  the  realms  where  I  have  an  idea  you  belong; 
on  a  higher  plane  than  I  can  climb  to.  But  fail- 
ing in  which  I  have  sometimes  a  strong  desire, 
an  unworthy  desire  to  lift  you  down  from.  Can 
you  understand  that,  also? ' ' 

How  much  one  can  live  in  an  instant!  Ages 
seemed  to  revolve  past  him  as  he  stood  there 
gazing  into  those  serious,  startled  eyes,  and  real- 
ized that  his  impulse  had  got  the  better  of  him  and 
he  had  said  the  truth  to  her;  but  one  of  the  truths 
that  should  be  denied,  not  confessed.  Someway 
he  felt  always  that  he  had  been  forced  into  it; 
something  in  her  presence  always  impelled  him  to 
truths  whether  they  counted  for  or  against  him; 
and  the  depth  of  feeling  in  his  tones  expressed  as 
much  as  the  words  themselves. 

After  a  little  it  was  she  who  broke  the  silence; 
there  was  no  pretense  of  not  knowing. 

"Yes,  I  can  understand  it,"  she  said  slowly, 
"and  you  are  right  when  you  say  it  is  unworthy 
of  you,  of  myself.  What  have  I  done,  or  been, 
that  you  feel  like  speaking  to  me  so? " 

The  inquiry  was  made  without  embarrassment; 


184  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

evidently  she  said  truly  when  she  had  claimed 
wealth  of  experience  in  life.  It  had  taught  her  in 
most  things  to  be  mistress  of  herself.  And  yet  at 
that  last  question  he  almost  felt  that  there  were 
tears  in  her  voice.  It  made  him  feel  like  a  brute. 
Why  did  she  not  get  angry  and  cut  him  as  he 
deserved?  he  asked  himself,  savagely. 

"You  have  done  or  been  nothing  that  has  not 
been  right  in  my  eyes,"  he  said;  "  be  sure  always 
of  that." 

"Then  why— " 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  can  tell  you,  or  that  any  one 
would  understand,"  he  answered  rapidly,  half- 
recklessly.  "  But  you  have  all  my  respect,  all 
my  regard,  even  while  you  make  me  forget  all 
things  conventional.  With  you  I  have  such  a 
strong  desire  to  be  only  a  man,  to  think  of  you 
as  only  a  woman,  to  set  the  world  beyond  us,  to 
speak  to  you  thoughts  as  one  would  tell  them  to 
one's  own  conscience,  all  the  best  and  the  worst, 
told  with  all  truth." 

" And  the  object?" 

How  cool  she  was!  he  thought;  would  a  volcano 
ever  change  that  self-possession?  Yet  he  knew 
she  did  feel,  he  knew  she  was  touched  by  all  earn- 
estness, and  that  knowledge  helped  him. 

"  The  object  I  think  is  a  little  like  that  which 
sends  penitents  to  priests." 

She  raised  her  hand  ever  so  slightly  at  that. 

"Don't!"  she  said  uncertainly;  "you  scarcely 
know  me.  I  am  far  from  the  thoughts  of  priest- 
hood." 


GALEED.  185 

' k  Perhaps,  but  you  compel  thoughts  such  as 
the  priests  strive  for.  You  bring  me  closer  to 
nature  that  reasons  from  the  heart  and  feelings, 
not  from  the  intellect.  You  may  resent  my 
speaking  like  this  to  you  to-night.  If  you  judge 
from  the  social  standpoint,  I  am  presuming  to  you 
and  not  worth  the  trust  of  the  girl  I  told  you 
about.  But  gauging  myself  from  the  origin  of 
this  half-confession,  I  know  different.  You  help 
me  to  be  more  worthy  the  trust  when  you  compel 
these  truths." 

She  made  no  comment,  and  after  a  little  he 
added:  "  You  are  offended,  you  think  me  all 
unworthy?' ' 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  am  a 
slow  thinker,  I  am  trying  to  follow  those  seem- 
ingly incompatible  statements  of  yours.  No,  I 
can  not  think  you  all  unworthy;  if  you  were,  you 
would  be  less  honest.  I  am  willing  to  believe 
that  those  unworthy  thoughts  of  yours  are  strays 
of  impulse;  they  do  not  belong  to  you — I  mean 
to  the  best  that  is  in  you." 

"You  are  better  to  me  than  I  deserve,"  he 
said. 

"  Then,  if  you  want  me  to  judge  by  the  heart, 
instead  of  the  world's  standard,  you  must  try  to 
deserve  the  best.  That  would  be  the  highest 
compliment  friendship  can  hope  for." 

Just  then  Grace  and  the  major  returned,  arm  in 
arm,  from  the  village. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  evening  for  a  walk,"  she  called, 
as  she  came  up  across  the  sward;  "you  should 


186  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

not  stick  so  lazily  to  that  porch,"  and  then  she 
ran  up  the  steps  and  went  over  to  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"How  still  you  two  are?"  she  said,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other,  "  as  if  you  had  not  stirred 
or  spoken  since  we  left.  Do  be  more  companion- 
able," and  then  she  slipped  her  arm  around  the 
shoulder  in  the  white  shawl.  "Do  you  know, 
Fra  Lippo,  I  think  you  should  write  a  story  about 
this  lovely  old  place  and  have  Queen  Judith  here 
illustrate  it.  The  surroundings  are  enough  to 
inspire  even  me.  The  walk  from  the  village  in 
this  starlight  is  a  continuous  lover's  lane — just 
the  place  for  romances.  I  felt  tempted  to  make 
love  to  the  major,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me;  told 
me  to  go  ahead  through  the  stile  and  tell  him  if 
that  was  the  one  where  the  step  went  down. 
Just  think  of  that  for  gallantry!  A  place  sure, 
you  know,  to  be  marked  with  kisses  of  a  summer' s 
evening.  I  was  wondering  how  many  love  stories 
that  stile  had  counted,  and  major  told  me  not  to 
be  silly." 

"Good reason  to,"  growled  the  major,  who  had 
just  reached  the  head  of  the  steps.  "A  girl 
expecting  one  to  calculate  imaginary  kisses  over 
a  turn-stile  —  especially  other  fellows'  kisses. 
Have  a  cigar,  Alison?" 

"  Now,  if  the  real  Fra  Lippo  was  here  he  could 
have  counted  qiiite  a  number  of  his  own,  could  he 
not,  Mr.  Alison?  In  that  respect  you're  ever  so 
much  behind  your  namesake;  oh  yes  yon  are,  you 
sober  sides!  Still,  papa  did  tell  me  something 
interesting  about  you  this  morning  before  he  left, 


GALEED.  187 

and  I  am  so  glad.  It's  so  romantic  even  to  know 
one's  friends  are  in  love,  even  if  one  is  not 
oneself,  and  Tom  says  I'm  too  young.  Is  it  a 
secret?  If  so,  I  won't  tell,  but  I  know  her. 
Didn't  she  ever  speak  to  you  of  me?  Is  it  a 
secret?" 

"I  think  not,  here,"  remarked  Alison,  "if  it 
were  you  would  divulge  it  in  the  very  act  of  pro- 
mising to  keep  it.  It  is  no  secret  from  Mrs. 
Holmes,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  Isn't  that  lovely?"  asked  the  girl,  giving  Mrs. 
Holmes  a  little,  appreciative  hug.  "A  real  love 
story  to  interest  ourselves  in.  That  is  better  than 
the  vague,  supposititious  romances  of  a  turn- 
stile." 

And  then  Mrs.  Winans  called  her,  and  she 
lugged  the  major  in  to  be  interviewed  by  his  little 
superior  officer  for  their  long  absence. 

The  other  two,  halting  just  an  instant,  followed. 
But  in  that  pause  he  said  to  her: 

"  You  are  better  to  my  erratic  moods  than  I 
deserve.  No  one  could  be  like  you." 

And  she  answered:  "  I  hope  no  one  ever  will 
be.  Curb  those  erratic  strays  of  impulse  for  her 
sake  and  your  own.  No  other  person's  opinion 
should  enter  into  your  lives." 


188  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

And  hold  the  torch  out  while  the  winds  are  rough 
Between  our  faces  to  cast  light  on  each  ? 
I  drop  it  at  thy  feet,  I  can  not  teach 
My  hand  to  hold  my  spirit  so  far  off. 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 

Whatever  thoughts  the  night  had  held  for  her, 
she  met  him  in  the  morning  with  more  lightness 
of  manner  than  they  had  known  the  evening 
before. 

With  a  pair  of  oars  over  her  shoulder,  and  a 
sketch-book  in  her  hand,  she  met  him  at  the  porch 
steps  in  the  late  morning. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  Grace,"  she  explained;  "  we 
are  going  to  that  wooded  point  out  across  the  water 
there.  I  have  learned  its  Indian  name,  Musham- 
mack." 

"I  was  talking  yesterday  to  some  half-breed 
Indians  who  live  back  here  in  the  country,"  he 
remarked.  "  You  may  find  some  interesting  types 
among  them  for  sketches.  If  you  care  to  go  I 
will  take  you  some  day." 

Grace  returned  in  time  to  hear  the  proffer. 

"  I  wonder  if  for  that  promise  for  the  future  he 
expects  an  invitation  to  go  with  us  to-day?"  she 
queried,  in  an  audible  aside. 

Mrs.  Holmes  dropped  her  head  and  looked  at 
the  girl  quizzically  from  under  her  brows. 


GALEED.  189 

"I  wonder?"  she  echoed,  while  Alison  stood 
half -laughing,  awaiting  the  verdict. 

"  Yes,  let  us  take  him,"  suggested  Grace.  "He 
won't  be  in  your  way,  you  can  sketch  just  the 
same,  and  it  is  so  much  nicer  to  have  a  cavalier. 
I  think  so,  though  you  are  too  independent  to 
need  one.  But  '  Amon '  may  prove  too  much  for 
me  to  read.  I  may  want  to  gossip.  You  will  not 
care  to  be  bothered  with  me,  so  you  had  better 
take  him;  it  will  be  money  in  your  pocket." 

"Miss  Grace,  you  are  as  much  of  a  politician 
as  you  are  a  musician,"  said  Alison  at  her  elbow. 
"  An  argument  like  that  should  persuade  anyone 
of  my  utility.  But  she  still  looks  dubious,  try 
again." 

' '  Of  course  little  captain  will  take  you,"  said  the 
major  through  the  window.  ' '  I  am  taking  the  wife 
for  a  drive  over  to  East  Hampton  or  I  would  go. 
They  need  some  one  along,  so  let  me  delegate  you 
instead  of  myself." 

"  But  we  really  do  not  need  a  cavalier,  major," 
protested  Mrs.  Holmes,  smilingly. 

"Yes  you  do,  a  rolling  pig  might  upset  your 
boat." 

"I  can  swim." 

"  A  warrior  of  the  Montauk  tribe  might  try 
to  kidnap  you  in  the  woods." 

"I  can  run." 

•'I  rather  think,"  suggested  Alison,  "  that  some 
one  will  be  needed  to  cut  the  leaves  of  novels,  and 
sharpen  pencils  for  sketches." 

"  I  have  nothing  strong  enough  to  put  against 


190  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

that  argument,"  laughed  Mrs.  Holmes.  "If 
Grace  will  see  to  an  extra  slice  of  bread  in  the 
lunch-basket  you  can  come  along." 

So  they  went  down  to  the  shore  together,  the 
three.  But  after  getting  the  oars  in  the  boat 
and  arranging  their  books  and  lunch-basket,  he 
said: 

"I  really  had  not  thought  of  going  with  you 
until  Miss  Grace  mentioned  it.  So  if  you  would 
rather  not  have  your  little  sociable  encroached 
upon,  I  will  hunt  another  point  of  the  compass. 
I  had  this  portfolio  intending  to  make  a  break 
for  the  woods,  and  write  to-day,  so — " 

"Oh  you  deserter!"  began  Grace.  But  Mrs. 
Holmes  only  remarked,  brusquely,  "get  in," 
and  then  as  he  shoved  off  the  boat  and  did  so, 
she  added,  "no,  I  will  do  the  rowing,  that  is 
why  I  come  in  a  small  boat.  I  like  the  exercise." 

"  Yes — going  out,"  remarked  Grace,  ironically, 
"but  our  landlord  said  it  took  hard  work  to 
bring  a  boat  back  from  that  point  when  the  tide 
is  ebbing;  I  didn't  dare  mention  it  when  on  shore 
for  fear  of  offending  our  captain,  and  being  left 
ashore.  But  my  prime  reason  for  suggesting  an 
escort  was,  that  I  might  be  certain  of  getting 
home  for  my  supper." 

The  captain  just  turned  her  head  for  one  with- 
ering glance  at  the  confessor,  and  then  went  on 
rowing  with  the  strong,  flexible  wrist  movement 
that  Alison  noted  and  commended  in  silence. 
The  slow  color  crept  to  her  face  as  she  sent  the 
light  boat  evenly  over  the  water.  That  bit  of  pink 


GALEED.  191 

in  her  cheeks  took  from  her  the  coolness  of  the 
night  before.  She  looked  so  much  more  human. 
And  Alison,  having  just  posted  a  long  letter  to 
Blanche,  one  written  under  the  influence  of  their 
conversation  in  the  starlight,  and  therefore  an 
earnest  one,  had  within  him  a  sense  of  duty  done 
that  allowed  him  as  a  reward  the  luxury  of 
to-day's  indulgence. 

He  was  very  quiet,  content  only  to  watch  her 
and  remember  her  words  of  last  night.  Just 
once  he  addressed  her  directly,  and  then  in  a 
rather  abrupt  way. 

"  How  did  you  know  who  I  was  when  you  saw 
me  that  day  in  the  dining-room?" 

He  did  not  call  her  by  name,  but  she  answered 
at  once,  granting  quick  understanding  of  his 
meaning. 

"  There  was  a  very  bad  wood- cut  of  you  in  one 
of  the  New  York  dailies  a  few  weeks  before,  nat- 
urally I  looked  at  it,  and  there  happened  to  be 
enough  likeness  to  recognize  you  by." 

That  was  all,  there  was  no  further  comment. 
It  had  puzzled  him  often  to  remember  that  glance 
across  the  tables,  and  at  last  his  curiosity  had 
prompted  the  query. 

Up  on  the  point  of  Mushammack  they  climbed, 
and  from  it  the  reach  of  water  with  its  wooded 
bits  jutting  out  into  it,  and  the  village  away 
around  the  curve,  and  the  fields  in  distant  patches 
showing  like  a  snow-fall  in  their  decking  of  white 
daisies,  and  the  shimmer  of  the  waves  below,  and 
the  scent  of  the  near  pines  in  the  scrubby  wood 


192  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

back  of  them — it  was  all  so  fresh,  so  sweet  with 
the  breath  of  late  June,  that  it  put  summer-time 
in  the  blood  as  one  gazed. 

"There  are  some  delightfully  stubborn  comers 
of  the  world  that  refuse  to  be  civilized,"  said 
Mrs.  Holmes,  drawing  in  great  breaths  of  the  salt 
air,  "and  I  am  glad  to  find  so  many  of  them 
around  this  end  of  the  island." 

"Yes,"  answered  Alison,  " the  original  growth 
of  oak  clings  as  closely  to  the  soil  as  the  original 
owners.  I  was  surprised  to  find  a  village  of  Mon- 
tauk  descendants  still  farming  and  fishing  on 
their  old  hunting-grounds  so  near  the  harbor. 
Some  of  them  are  of  remarkably  pure  blood,  and 
their  somber  eyes  always  seem  to  regard  our  race 
as  interlopers,  although  they  have  grown  too  dig- 
nified to  discuss  the  question  with  us  of  late 
years." 

"They  look  witchy  to  me,"  acknowledged 
Grace.  "  I  met  one  of  the  women  on  the  road  with 
a  basket  yesterday,  and  thought  her  a  gypsy.  I  was 
cogitating  whether  or  not  to  ask  her  to  tell  my 
fortune,  but  one  look  in  her  eyes  when  we  came 
closer  upset  that  idea.  She  was  only  a  little 
taller  than  I,  but  she  seemed  to  look  down  on  me 
from  immeasurable  heights,  and  I  collapsed,  as  it 
were.  I  have  scarcely  recovered  my  self-assur- 
ance as  yet." 

Mrs.  Holmes  said  nothing  that  would  lead  him 
to  think  that  she  ever  remembered  the  interview 
of  last  evening.  She  was  once  more  the  captain 
of  the  major.  She  was  enjoying  the  morning,  the 


GALEED.  193 

air,  the  surroundings,  with  the  vim  of  impressions 
new  born,  stopping  to  analyze  nothing,  just  con- 
tent to  exist  and  enjoy. 

1 '  I  think  I  have  a  bit  of  Indian  in  my  own  blood, ' ' 
she  remarked,  as  she  settled  herself  with  her  back 
against  a  tree  to  sketch  the  little  town  in  the 
circle  of  the  bay;  "  the  wild  woods  always  attract 
me,  and  this  point,  with  its  Indian  name,  brought 
me  out  here,  though  I  am  sure  its  power  would  not 
have  been  so  compelling  had  its  name  been  Daw- 
son' s  Point  or  Jenkins'  Woods;  it  is  the  sympathy 
with  the  Indian  nature,  reaching  toward  their 
names." 

"Their  names  are  an  awful  jumble,"  protested 
Grace.  "  I  can't  see  any  beauty  in  them." 

"That  is  because  you  do  not  learn  their  mean- 
ings," answered  Alison;  "most  of  them  are  very 
poetical — none  are  so  insipid  as  ours  that  have 
superseded  them.  Do  you  know  that  to  the  most 
of  them  the  milky  way  is  called  the  way  of  the 
birds?" 

"  Why  the  way  of  the  birds?"  asked  Grace,  and 
Mrs.  Holmes  went  on  sketching,  while  their  escort 
told  them  of  the  old  idea,  that  the  soul  of  our 
human  dead  took  the  form  of  a  white  bird,  and  so 
flew  to  the  happy  hunting-ground.  And  that  the 
brood  so  loosed  from  prison,  flew  upward,  upward 
until  their  wings  felt  of  that  air  path  leading  to 
the  great  gate,  and  the  light  of  the  stars,  shining 
on  their  snowy  breasts,  made  a  great  glory  in  the 
nights,  and  so  it  was  called  the  'way  of  the 
birds.'  " 

13 

\ 


194  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

That  and  many  other  bits  of  Indian  history  and 
mythology  he  told  them,  with  the  fishing  and 
hunting-grounds  of  the  Montauks  spread  around 
them,  as  the  territory  of  many  of  the  scenes. 

It  all  seemed  so  natural  that  they  should  dis- 
cuss those  superstitions  that  arose  from  the 
untrained  souls  of  those  children  of  nature.  They 
were  so  out  of  and  above  the  world,  there  between 
the  wood  and  the  water,  where  the  porpoise- 
rolling  pigs — splashed  and  turned  in  the  sunlight. 
And  like  three  children  let  loose,  they  ran  races 
along  the  sands,  when  the  books  and  pencils  grew 
heavy  in  the  hands,  and  the  fresh  winds  called 
them.  And  then  Mrs.  Holmes,  with  some  pretty 
pink  shells  as  trophies,  again  climbed  up  over 
the  point,  and  from  the  wood  above,  could  see  the 
other  two  away  along  the  beach,  Grace  filling  both 
her  own  pockets  and  her  escort's  with  the  bits  of 
shell  or  pebble  that  caught  her  eye.  How  well 
they  looked  together,  she  thought,  he  so  tall,  so 
dark;  she  so  girlish  and  fair.  They  had  sat  down 
on  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  Grace  was  emptying 
her  treasures  into  his  hat,  and  evidently  sorting 
them.  They  made  a  prettj^  summer  picture;  and 
again  she  picked  up  pencil  and  paper,  and  rapidly 
sketching,  caught  the  outlines  of  the  two  figures, 
and  then  like  a  flash  came  the  memory  of  that 
other  day  by  the  shore,  and  another  blonde  head 
that  had  leaned  so  near  to  his  own,  and  she  threw 
the  tablet  and  pencil  from  her,  and  laid  down  in  a 
tired  fashion  on  the  grass,  her  head  on  her  arm. 
She  fell  to  wondering  if  that  other  girl  who  was  to 


GALEED.  195 

be  his  wife  had  blonde  hair,  or  was  she  dark?  was 
she  gentle  and  homelike,  or  was  she  proud  and 
stately? 

She  had  not  thought  of  it  the  night  before. 
She  had  known  only  a  little  shock  and  then  a 
strange  wonder  in  her  mind  as  he  told  her  first  of 
his  intended  marriage,  and  almost  in  the  next 
breath  that  declaration  of  interest,  that  want  of 
herself.  She  could  almost  hear  the  thrill  in  his 
tones  as  he  had  said: 

"Can  you  understand  that,  too?" 

Did  she  understand?  Did  he  even  understand 
himself  as  yet?  She  tried  to  think  as  she  lay 
there,  why  did  he  feel  the  want  of  other  compan- 
ionship when  he  had  his  betrothed?  The  thought 
of  fickleness  entered  her  mind,  but  it  did  not 
belong  to  his  eyes  as  she  had  known  them,  and 
she  found  herself  whispering  a  rebellious  "no" 
to  the  grass  and  the  pink  shells  close  beside  her. 

There  was  a  half  wish  in  her  heart  that  there 
were  no  bonds  of  the  future  about  him.  She 
could  never  associate  the  idea  of  happiness  with 
bonds  of  any  kind. 

That  was  no  doubt  a  narrow  view  to  take  of  it — 
a  prejudiced  view  taken  from  the  standard  of  her 
own  experience.  But  he  had  been  so  frank  with 
her — so  evidently  with  a  desire  to  be  honest,  and 
through  it  there  had  been  that  minor  chord  of 
feeling  that  asked  understanding — that  she  won- 
dered why  it  was  all  so.  Did  those  bonds  grow 
irksome?  Why  did  he  seem  so  alone  in  his  work 
and  ambitions? 


196  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

And  then  she  fell  to  thinking  of  this  new, 
strange  element  that  had  crept  into  his  manner 
toward  her — half  friendly,  half  protecting  at 
times — in  so  many  ways  anticipating  her  wants — 
not  in  the  way  of  a  lover,  but  with  a  respectful 
tenderness  that  had  seemed  half  pity.  All  at 
once  that  thought  came  to  her — pity!  Why 
should  it  be  that?  Could  he  know — did  he  know 
what  her  life  had  been?  Was  it  that  sorrow  that 
had  brought  him  to  her? 

Her  hand  clenched  a  little  over  the  pink  shells 
as  she  saw  herself  through  his  eyes,  that  there 
was  what  had  led  him  to  that  impulse  last  night. 
It  was  not  so  much  help  for  himself  he  asked  as 
it  was  the  desire  to  be  close  in  her  thoughts  that 
he  might  help  her — she  had  misunderstood  him 
there  on  the  porch.  But  she  was  sure  now  that 
it  was  only  through  very  kindness  of  heart  that 
he  had  spoken  so.  She  liked  him  the  better  from 
arriving  at  that  conviction,  though  through  it  all 
was  a  sense  of  rebellious  pride.  Why  was  she 
to  be  thus  set  aside  from  other  cared-for,  care- 
free women? — placed  on  a  level  where  people 
should  think  of  her  with  pity,  and  she  could  not 
resent  it.  She  had  not  used  to  think  of  it  like 
this.  For  so  long  a  time  she  had  been  content 
only  with  the  sense  of  her  late  freedom,  and  now! 
She  scarcely  knew  what  had  changed  it  all.  How 
those  tones  of  his  voice  would  persist  in  recurring 
to  her!  How  would  that  other  woman  think  of 
her  when  she  heard  how  she  came  to  live  alone, 
though  married?  Would  she  be  coolly  cautious 


GALEED.  197 

until  informed  of  the  same,  or  would  she  be 
gushingly  pitiful?  And  the  woman  laying  there 
felt  half  savagely  that  she  could  not  stand  either 
— not  from  his  wife.  She  would  go  away  again, 
she  and  black  Liza.  Yes,  she  would  drop  out  of 
his  life  when  the  summer  was  ended. 

But  soft  through  the  sunshine  of  the  day  came 
the  echo  of  night  words:  "Can  you  understand 
that,  too?" 

Why  did  they  haunt  her  like  that?  why  did 
they  fill  her  with  so  great  an  unrest?  She  had 
tried  to  speak  wisely  to  him.  But  long  into  the 
night  she  had  questioned  her  own  rebellious  heart, 
and  the  day  dawn  had  brought  her  no  answer 
that  she  dared  whisper  even  to  herself. 

A  step  near  her  caused  her  to  raise  her  head. 
Alison  stood  a  few  feet  away,  looking  at  her 
anxiously. 

"You  are  ill,  Mrs.  Holmes?"  he  asked,  cross- 
ing to  her  quickly.  But  she  shook  her  head. 

"111?  no.  Why  should  you  think  so?"  she 
asked  the  question  half  irritably.  "I  was  sleepy, 
I  suppose,  that  was  all." 

"  Sleepy!  then  you  slept  badly? " 

"  I  believe  not.  Why  should  I? "  her  tone  had 
a  shade  more  of  annoyance  in  it.  To  him  it 
sounded  cold. 

"You  are  very  far  away  from  me  to-day,"  he 
said,  as  he  looked  at  her.  "  I  fear  I  drove  you 
away  last  night." 

"  Not  far,"  she  answered,  laconically,  reaching 
for  her  Tarn  0'  Shanter,  and  looking  about  for  her 


198  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

pencil.  It  lay  at  his  feet,  and  he  picked  it  up, 
passing  it  to  her  in  silence;  also  the  tablet,  at 
which  he  did  not  glance. 

' '  Not  too  far  to  get  a  tolerably  fair  likeness  of 
you,"  she  added,  in  a  more  friendly  way,  showing 
him  the  sketch. 

"Yes,  it  is  good,"  he  said,  holding  it  out  at 
arm's  length  to  get  the  best  effect,  and  then  he 
glanced  quickly  down  at  her.  "But  why  did 
you  throw  it  away  against  that  tree,  and  why  the 
pencil  flung  in  the  grass?  and  see!  some  of  your 
pretty  shells  crushed;  have  you  had  a  destructive 
fit?" 

An  instant  later  he  was  sorry  he  had  spoken. 
She  said  nothing,  only  looked  at  him.  But 
through  that  gaze  he  read  the  remembrance  of 
another  sketch,  and  without  words  he  could 
understand  the  impulse  that  had  flung  from  her 
the  paper  with  his  face  on  it. 

"I  am  a  great  blunderer,"  he  said,  after  a  little. 
"  You  thought  very  badly  of  me  that  day." 

"Yes;"  again  there  was  no  pretense  of  not 
understanding.  ' '  I  thought  you  very  unworthy. " 

"Could  you  not  know  enough  of  the  world  to 
understand  that  one  can  not  all  at  once  step  out 
of  the  mud  of  mistakes?  or  stepping  out,  that  it 
takes  some  time  to  clean  from  one's  shoes  the  soil 
where  one's  feet  have  wandered?"  he  asked,  in  a 
slow  way.  It  was  an  awkward  subject.  He 
wondered  what  other  woman  he  could  feel  like 
explaining  it  to.  "  If  you  could  only  understand 
a  little  more  of  the  deficiencies  of  human  nature?" 


GALEED.  199 

"Do  I  not?"  she  said,  with  a  tinge  of  bitter- 
ness; "I  have  surely  learned  that,  if  no  other;" 
and  then  after  a  little,  she  added:  "  And  it  made 
me  doubtful  of  much,  and  the  sward  looked  a  very 
comfortable  place  to  lounge  in  that  day,  and  it 
has  surprised  me  the  more  in  the  light  of  this 
new  statement  of  yours — your  engagement." 

"  I  know  you  think  I  was  false  to  my  position 
toward  her,  as  well  as  undeserving  of  your  faith. 
But  I  wish  you  would  believe  that  the  day  you 
saw  me  was  an  unwelcome  echo  from  an  empty 
past;  one  you  helped  me  free  from." 

"  I?  should  you  not  have  freed  yourself  for  the 
sake  of  another?  you  had  a  right  to." 

"Yes,  you  are  right.     But  one  needs  help  to 
.do   the  right   thing  sometimes,   and  my — Miss 
Athol  does  not  know — I  mean,  does  not  think 
seriously  as  you  do;  few  girls  do,  I  believe." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  knows  at  all — has  any 
idea  of  that  worst  side  of  your  life?" 

She  evidently  could  not  keep  the  amazement 
from  her  tones,  and  it  made  him  feel  a  little  as  he 
had  felt  about  marriage  depending  only  on  cere- 
mony. Blanche  and  himself  seemed  to  have  but 
papier-macJie  foundations  for  affection  whenever 
he  was  drifted  into  discussing  themselves  with 
this  woman;  it  disturbed  him,  made  him  dissatis- 
fied in  a  way. 

"  Well,  you  see  it  is  the  fault  of  society,  I  sup- 
pose," he  began,  in  an  explanatory  way.  "She 
has  seen  a  good  deal  of  it  all  her  life,  and  is  too 
bright  not  to  keep  her  ears  open.  Well,  girls 


200  Itf  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

get  used  to  the  idea  that  the  men  of  their  set  waste 
a  good  many  days  in  passing  time  instead  of 
improving  it.  And  she  knew — yes,  she  under- 
stood that  I  was  no  better;  that  the  chances  were 
I  might  be  even  a  little  worse  than  the  most  of 
them." 

She  could  only  look  at  him.  She  had  not  been 
a  society  girl  herself.  She  had  been  very  igno- 
rant of  many  things.  Men  had  been  to  her  grand, 
strong  ideals  as  a  girl;  she  had  dreamed  them  in 
dreamy  fashion  little  less  than  gods.  Had  the 
gods  all  died  since  those  days,  or  had  her 
romances,  her  heroes  of  right,  all  been  lies? 

"  You  puzzle  me,  sometimes,",  she  said,  at  last, 
"and  much  as  I  want  to,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like 
either  you  or  Miss — Miss  Athol  did  you  say?  Not 
for  past  unworthiness,  not  for  past  mistakes,  but 
because  of  the  view  you  each  seem  to  take  of  it 
now.  It  does  not  seem  the  right  thing." 

"  You  mean  that  we  look  at  it  too  carelessly?" 

"  Yes.  You  have  something  better  in  you.  I  can 
not  fancy  you  as  content  with  the  superficial." 

' '  I  am  not  sure  I  have  been.  Who  knows  what 
we  may  be?" 

"  I  know  what  you  ought  to  be — what  your 
work  ought  to  be;  a  thing  strong  enough  to  wipe 
out  all  mistakes  of  the  past,"  she  said,  energet- 
ically. 

Down  over  the  bluff  they  could  hear  Grace 
singing  "Blue  Juniata."  One  could  imagine 
her  that  bright  Alferatta  but  for  her  blonde  hair. 
How  girlish  and  care-free  the  voice  was! 


GALEED. 

"  Is  Miss  Athol  like  that?"  she  asked,  nodding 
her  head  toward  the  beach. 

' '  No !    Not  at  all.     She  never  was. ' ' 

"  You  must  tell  me  of  her  some  day,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  do  not  know  many  women,"  and  then: 
"  Is  she  pretty?" 

"She  is  thought  attractive  by  those  who  know 
her,"  he  answered;  "  but,  at  first  glance,  one 
would  not  think  her  a  beauty." 

"  I  like  pretty  women — to  look  at,"  she  said,  "  I 
like  them  as  I  would  pictures  or  statuary — from 
a  picturesque  point  of  view.  But  no  doubt  the 
sort  you  describe  in  her — pretty  to  those  who 
know  her — is  the  best  to  wear.  Yes,  I  should 
think  it  the  best  for  a  wife." 

He  picked  up  the  bits  of  broken  shell,  pink 
and  shattered,  slipping  them  idly  from  hand  to 
hand. 

"You  have  broken  those  pretty  things,"  he 
said,  regretfully,  for  in  a  sense  he  felt  himself 
the  cause.  "Will  you  take  these  instead?  I 
think  something  could  be  made  of  them — brace- 
let or  necklace." 

They  were  all  soft,  pretty  tints  of  cream,  and 
pink,  and  orange,  here  and  there  a  glistening 
white  one,  all  looking  like  so  many  leaves  of  shat- 
tered roses. 

"They  are  lovely,"  and  she  held  her  hands  to 
receive  them.  One  of  them  dropped,  the  pret- 
tiest, of  course.  Each  bent  to  pick  it  up.  Her 
head  was  lowest,  and  she  did  not  see  how  close  he 
bent  above  her;  but  the  drooped  head  and  the 


202  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

white  neck  were  so  close,  so  close!  Her  hair 
brushed  his  cheek,  then  his  lips,  and  for  an 
instant  his  fingers  pressed  a  loose  bronze  lock 
against  the  eager  red  of  his  mouth.  Quick  it  was 
done,  and  quickly  he  drew  back,  feeling  like  a 
thief,  when  she  raised  those  clear  eyes  all  uncon- 
sciously to  his. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  walked  over  to  the  edge 
of  the  bluff. 

"What  the  devil  made  me  do  that?"  he  asked 
himself,  half  savagely,  "am  I,  after  all,  as  loose 
in  my  ideas  as  the  man  whose  namesake  Grace 
says  I  am?"  He  walked  back  and  forth,  glancing 
at  every  turn  toward  that  woman  sitting  there 
silently  sorting  those  shells. 

"No,"  he  soliloquized,  "the  ideas  and  theories 
of  the  correct  thing  are  steady  enough  in  my 
head.  But — I  wonder  if  I  am  worse  than  other 
men?  I  suppose  I  must  be,  for  I  always  find  my 
emotions  and  feelings  playing  the  deuce  with  my 
straight-laced  principles." 

"Do  you  not  think  that  would  make  a  pretty 
brooch?"  she  said,  turning  her  head  toward  him. 
"Oh  you  are  away  over  there.  I  thought  you 
almost  in  reach  of  me." 

"lam  now,"  he  answered,  crossing  to  her;  while 
to  himself  he  was  thinking:  ' '  And  you  make 
me  want  never  to  go  beyond  the  reach  of  your 
hands." 

He  did  not  feel  that  he  was  in  love  with  her, 
it  was  not  that.  He  had  been  grateful  to  her. 
He  had  been  sorry  for  her,  and  her  earnest  sym- 


GALEED.  203 

pathies  had  made  him  want  to  keep  her  always  as 
a  close  friend.  All  that  he  could  understand  and 
find  a  reason  for;  but  this  desire  for  the  entire 
possession  of  her  heart  and  thoughts  that  had 
made  him  say  what  he  had  last  night,  and  that 
had  filled  him  just  now  with  a  sort  of  insanity  to 
touch  her  with  his  lips  if  only  for  once! 

He  told  himself  it  was  not  love,  he  found  him- 
self looking  at  her  moodily  and  thinking  of  the 
magnetism  that,  unconscious  of  itself,  yet  sways 
and  attracts  all  in  its  reach.  Was  that  the  secret? 
Could  it  all  be  explained  by  a  mere  scientific 
theory?  And  yet  what  a  cold-blooded  way  to 
think  of  that  soft,  girlish  form  and  the  sweet  lips 
with  their  cool,  firm  curves;  again  and  again  his 
eyes  would  wander  back  to  them. 

How  coolly  she  could  reason  for  others,  he 
thought;  yet  that  mouth  needed  all  its  firm  lines 
to  keep  it  from  being  altogether  voluptuous.  It 
was  formed  as  that  magnificent  thing  of  Milo 
whose  impenetrable  gaze  attracts,  and  whose  lips 
lure  one  in  spirit  to  kisses.  Thus  had  each  meant 
to  appeal  only  to  the  mind,  to  the  thing  that 
whispered  of  ambitions;  but,  almost  before  he 
knew  it,  something  akin  to  a  soul  answered 
through  him  to  every  glance — every  tone  coined 
for  him. 

What  strong,  white  fingers  she  had  as  she  dallied 
with  the  shells.  He  had  never  before  found  him- 
self caring  much  for  the  strong,  decided  order  of 
women.  The  pretty,  soft  tints  had  made  the  most 
alluring  pictures  to  him,  and  that  was  another 


204  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

irritation.  She  went  against  all  his  ideas  of 
women  who  had  been  pleasant  to  him  in  the  past. 
She  was  in  some  respects  masterful;  a  charm  which 
should  appeal  only  to  his  intellect.  He  found 
himself  calling  her  little  captain  in  his  thoughts 
as  the  major  had  done;  from  that  he  drifted  to  her 
name  of  Judith,  she  who  had  been  the  avenger 
of  her  people.  A  character  formed  for  sacrifice 
and  religion,  one  whose  strong  hands  had  been 
bathed  in  a  man's  blood.  He  wondered  if  that 
other  Judith  had  those  same  flexible  fingers,  he 
knew  she  had  never  that  same  warm  beauty  of 
mouth;  ah!  that  mouth  where  the  pearls  gleamed! 
His  thoughts  went  with  a  flush  of  anger  to  that 
other  man  who  must  have  kissed  her,  her  husband, 
and  something  like  an  oath  raised  her  eyes  inquir- 
ingly to  his  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  hastily,  "  I  think  the  two  pink 
ones  would  be  pretty  on  a  silver  bar.  Is  that  not 
the  idea?  Do  you  think  the  shells  are  strong 
enough  to  be  riveted? " 

So  narrow  was  the  line  that  summer  day 
between  the  rippling  of  meadow  brooks  and  the 
shadowy  abysses  where  souls  struggle  in  the 
deeps. 

There  was  a  sort  of  electricity  in  the  air  that 
conveyed  the  spirit  of  earnestness  to  each,  through 
the  bulwark  of  carelessness  that  was  raised  so 
high.  But  eyes  tell  so  much  when  they  avoid 
each  other  so  persistently,  and  they  found  them- 
selves speaking  rather  eagerly  of  trifles,  and  won- 
derfully afraid  of  silence. 


GALEED.  205 

Brave  was  the  warrior  bold, 
The  love  of  Alferatta! 

sang  Grace  below  them,  and  with  cheeks  flushed, 
and  fair  hair  flying,  she  came  up  over  the  bank, 
scattering  constraint,  and  sinking  down  restfully 
on  the  sward.  "  Oh,  I  think  it  is  glorious  out 
here!"  she  panted;  "  the  sand  is  so  warm.  I  had 
my  shoes  off  down  there  wiggling  my  toes  in  it — 
oh,  no!  I  do  not  suppose  it  looked  very  dignified, 
but  it  felt  good." 

"Never  mind  the  lack  of  dignity,  then,"  said 
Alison,  "  it  is  feelings  instead  of  conventionalities 
that  influence  us  most  anyway." 

"There,"  said  Grace,  triumphantly,  "I  knew 
the  instincts  of  Fra  Lippo  would  make  themselves 
apparent  if  I  only  had  patience  to  wait.  I  forgive 
you  lots  of  straight-laced  ideas  for  that  one  bit  of 
truth." 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  truth?"  he  asked, 
quizzically. 

"  Why,  all  the  novelists  show  us  that,  unless  it 
is  the  horrible  pessimist  stories — is  not  that  the 
word?  I  mean  the  ones  whose  people  do  all  the 
things  they  ought  to,  and  live  unhappy  ever 
after.  That  is  not  the  sort  you  write,  is  it,  Fra 
Lippo?" 

"No;  I  let  them  do  all  the  things  they  ought 
not  to,  and  then  give  them  their  dose  of  unhappi- 
ness  as  a  punishment — that  is  novelists'  justice, 
you  know." 

"Is  it?"  queried  Grace,  dubiously;  "well,  it 
looks  to  me  like  putting  a  boy  in  easy  reach  of  a 


206  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

neighbor's  orchard,  and  then  making  him  sick 
because  he  had  a  boy's  appetite." 

"Pretty  good  simile,  Miss  Grace,"  agreed 
Alison,  lazily;  "but  what  would  you  have  me 
write?" 

"Oh,  love  stories,  of  course;  none  others  are 
interesting.  But  I  want  the  people,  if  they  are 
nice,  to  get  everything  they  want,  and  only  the 
dark,  deep-dyed  villains  must  be  left  broken- 
hearted." 

"But  do  you  not  think  those  individuals 
would  be  just  the  ones  whose  hearts  would  be  too 
tough  to  break?"  asked  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"  Then  slash  out  the  villain  and  have  all  the 
people  good,  even  if  they  are  a  little  namby- 
pamby;  anything,  so  long  as  you  finish  them  up 
happily,  with  fortunes  and  weddings  galore." 

"  Suppose,  though,  that  you  want  to  begin 
instead  of  ending  them  with  the  wedding?" 
remarked  Alison. 

"Well,  then,  I'd — no,  I  guess  I  wouldn't  know 
how  to  manage  them  that  way.  The  romance 
should  come  before  the  wedding,  not  after." 

"But  the  things  that  should  be  so  seldom  are," 
said  Mrs.  Holmes;  "many  lives  never  have  any 
romance;  one  need  not  go  to  novels  to  learn  that." 

Alison  looked  at  her,  but  she  did  not  raise  her 
eyes.  The  shells  he  had  suggested  for  the  silver 
bar  were  still  in  her  hands.  Her  attention  was 
evidently  given  as  much  to  their  tints  as  to  the 
subject  discussed. 

"Well,  when  I  write  a  novel,"  began  Grace, 


GALEED.  207 

and  then  straightened  herself  up  in  much  dignity 
when  they  laughed. 

"  An  opera  singer,  a  novelist,  and  what  else?" 
asked  Alison,  enumerating  them  on  his  fingers. 

"Well,  I  will  do  something  to  distinguish 
myself,  or  I  never  could  rest  in  my  grave  after  I 
was  gone — no,  I  could  not.  And  my  novel,  if  I 
write  one,  shall  have  all  the  things  that  should  be. 
I  will  have  a  lovely  woman  in  it,  one  like  some  one 
we  know,  Fra  Lippo,  some  one  with  bronze  hair, 
who  is  so  lovely,  so  gracious,  that  one's  brothers, 
and  fathers,  and  all,  fall  in  love  with  her.  And 
she  must  be  a  sort  of  latter-day  Undine — a  lovely 
creature  without  a  soul — only  an  intellect,  you 
know,  until  some  day  he  comes — the  hero,  I  mean 
— and  he  looks  at  her,  and  she  looks  at  him,  and 
her  soul  is  given  to  her  through  love.  And  then 
he  knows  what  he  has  been  searching  for  always 
among  the  people  he  met;  and  then  she  knows 
what  she  has  been  waiting  for — it  has  been  for 
him.  And  straightway  there  is  no  other  man, 
and  there  is  no  other  woman  in  the  world  for 
either  of  them.  And  so  they  go  together  hand 
in  hand  until  they  are  old  and — and  that  is 
all." 

"Given  like  a  thing  of  inspiration,"  com- 
mented Alison.  "But  you  make  no  allowance 
for  the  accepted  idea  of  the  rough  current  of  true 
love,"  he  spoke  lightly,  but  the  words,  "and 
straightway  there  was  no  other  man  and  no  other 
woman  in  the  whole  world  for  either  of  them," 
thrilled  in  his  ears,  and  his  eyes  met  those  of  the 


208  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

woman  opposite.  Why  did  she  look  at  him  like 
that?  and  why  did  her  eyes  glisten  as  if  with 
tears?  Was  it  at  the  thought  of  being  shut 
out  forever  from  such  placid  love?  And  why  did 
the  word  "darling"  leap  to  his  own  eyes  as 
plain  almost  as  his  lips  could  have  spoken  it? 
Ah!  those  unanswerable  things  which  the  heart 
prompts.  It  was  only  for  one  electric  instant, 
and  both  faces  were  a  trifle  changed,  as  Grace 
continued  her  ideas  of  stories.  He  could  feel  him- 
self grow  pale,  and  could  see  her  own  face  flush, 
and  neither  felt  like  speaking  for  a  little  while. 
Voices  are  so  hard  to  master  sometimes,  harder 
even  than  the  eyes. 

"There  should  be  no  rough  currents,"  went  on 
Grace;  "  and  the  marriage  should  be  a  beautiful 
ideal  one — like  this  one  in  '  The  story  of  Arnon,' 
when  Azenath  chose  her  human  lover  in  prefer- 
ence even  to  a  son  of  God.  And  there  never 
must  be  doubt,  or  jealousy,  or  anything  to  come 
between  them." 

"But  something  does  come  in  that  story,"  said 
Mrs.  Holmes,  at  last.  "Death comes." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  agreed  Grace,  "but  only  for  a  little 
while.  Who  could  imagine  Arnon  living  on  and 
on  after  she  was  gone?  I  could  not." 

"You  are  an  extremest,"  said  Alison.  "You 
could  kill  them  both  without  qualms  of  con- 
science, but  object  to  anyone  else  giving  them  a 
little  worry." 

"Yes,  if  the  worry  in  a  love  story  means  sep- 
aration, or  misunderstanding,  or  any  of  those 


GALEED.  209 

horrid  things  novelists  make  use  of  to  end  them 
miserably.  It  would  be  better  to  be  dead." 

"It  would  be  better  to  be  dead,"  he  repeated, 
as  he  got  up  and  walked  out  along  the  edge  of 
the  bluff. 

* '  Fra  Lippo  looks  as  if  he  had  struck  an  inspira- 
tion and  wanted  to  get  away  from  our  frivolous 
selves  in  order  to  let  it  mature,"  remarked  Grace; 
and  then,  after  a  little,  she  said:  "I  wonder  if  he 
is  thinking  of  her?  He  sort  of  looks  as  if  he  might 
be." 

"Of  whom?" 

"Why,  of  Blanche  Athol.  I  have  heard  Tom 
quizzing  her  about  him.  But  when  I  saw  him 
that  day  at  Oyster  Bay,  I  never  imagined  that 
A.  D.  Alison  was  the  Dale  I  had  heard  her  speak- 
ing of.  I  never  would  have  thought  he  would  be 
her  style." 

"Why  not  'her  style?'  "  there  was  the  merest 
touch  of  asperity  in  the  tone. 

"  Oh,  because  he  is  too  serious,  I  think.  But  he 
was  not  always  so,  or  else  they  were  mistaken.  I 
remember  hearing  that  her  fiance  was  awfully 
fast.  I  can't  remember  just  who  said  it.  Blanche 
is  rather  hard  to  manage  herself,  at  least  they 
say  that  Mrs.  Julian,  her  married  sister,  who 
chaperons  her,  has  her  hands  full.  Blanche  is 
always  doing  something  sensational." 

"  Mr.  Alison  might  not  care  to  hear  you  say 
so,"  admonished  the  other. 

"Well,  I  don't  intend  that  he  shall,"  returned 
Grace,  frankly.  ' k  But  he  must  know,  as  every 


210  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

one  else  does,  that  Blanche  Athol  is  an  awful  flirt. 
Papa  says  she  began  to  coo  and  make  eyes 
coquettishly  in  her  cradle,  and  she  has  kept  it  up 
ever  since." 

"Yes." 

"Um,"  assented  Grace,  trying  to  button  her 
shoe  with  her  fingers.  "  Say,  Mrs.  Holmes,  lend 
me  a  hairpin,  will  you?  Please  let  me  call  you 
Judith,  just  as  Mrs.  Winans  does?  it's  so  much 
nicer;  can  I?  Oh,  you're  a  darling!"  as  Mrs. 
Holmes  smiled  assent.  And  then  her  bright, 
young  eyes  wandered  again  to  that  figure  on  the 
bluff.  "And  did  you  notice  how  he  repeated 
those  words?"  she  continued,  "  and  how  quick  he 
got  up  and  went  away?  Papa  says  they  will 
never  get  along  together.  Perhaps  Fra  Lippo 
thinks  so,  too,  and  its  the  idea  of  separation  that 
worries  him." 

"Oh,  you  romancer!"  laughed  Mrs.  Holmes. 
"I  am  afraid  Mr.  Alison  is  much  too  practical 
for  you  to  make  a  melancholy  hero  of,  and  no 
doubt  he  and  Miss  Athol  are  very  well  satisfied 
with  each  other." 

' '  Well,  perhaps  he  don' t  know  all  yet, ' '  debated 
Grace.  "  I  guess  he  has  been  working  awfully 
hard  lately.  Papa  says  he  has  been  cutting 
society.  But  Blanche  does  not.  She  was  going 
abroad  this  summer,  but  whimsically  changed  her 
mind  at  the  last  moment  and  upset  all  the  Julians' 
plans.  And  Fra  Lippo  ought  to  remember  that 
when  he  is  not  with  her  some  one  else  is,  sure. 
It's  been  Dick  Haverly  lately,  they  say,  and  the 
things  I've  heard — " 


GALEED.  211 

"  Grace,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  rising  to  her  feet, 
"I  would  rather  not  hear  anything  more  on  the 
subject.  I  may  meet  Miss  Athol  some  day,  and 
prefer  not  to  be  prejudiced." 

"  Why,  bless  you,  I — I  didn't  want  to  preju- 
dice you,"  said  Grace,  quickly;  ''only — well,  I 
don't  believe  when  you  do  meet  her  that  you  will 
think  her  any  more  your  style  than  he  is  hers. 
It's  all  wrong  some  way,  and  since  I've  known 
him  a  little  I'm  sorry.  Yes,  I  am.  He  is  so  good 
and  so  considerate,  and  just  as  the  major  says,  he 
is  such  a  good  fellow." 

' '  Suppose  you  get  him  to  wait  until  you  are 
quite  grown,  and  then  marry  him  yourself  to  be 
sure  he  is  appreciated?"  suggested  Mrs.  Holmes, 
teasingly. 

"  Stop  it!"  laughed  Grace.  "  I  would  not  be  a 
bit  of  an  improvement  on  Blanche.  I  might  be 
even  worse.  But  I  like  him  so  well.  And  do 
you  know  he  is  just  the  sort  of  person  I  would 
like  to  have  in  a  love  story  such  as  I  intend  to 
write,  and  when  he  would  meet  the  right  woman 
there  should  be  no  one  else  in  their  lives  ever 
again.  And  he  would  know  that  at  last  he  had 
come  into  his  own." 

"Into  his  own,"  said  Alison,  who  had  just 
come  up  back  of  them.  "Is  it  an  inheritance, 
Miss  Grace?"  She  glanced  at  him  saucily. 

"  Yes,  Fra  Lippo,  it  is  an  inheritance.  One 
that  I  wonder  if  you  will  know  as  your  own 
when  you  come  to  it — in  novels  they  do  not,  some- 
times." 


212  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

He  glanced  from  Grace  to  Mrs.  Holmes. 

"Oh,  it  is  only  another  romance  of  Grace's," 
she  explained.  "  She  is  in  a  visionary  mood 
to-day." 

"Well,  it  is  all  the  fault  of  'The  Story  of 
Arnon,' "  said  the  embryo  novelist.  "I  am  a 
spongy,  impressionable  creature,  and  it  has  satu- 
rated my  feeble  mind  with  beautiful  pictures 
and  vistas  of  romance;"  and  then  she  began  to 
laugh  quietly.  "I  think,  when  I  go  home,  I  will 
read  that  to  the  major,"  she  said,  wickedly;  "he 
flies  from  anything  with  sentiment  in  it,  and  to 
punish  him  for  calling  me  silly  at  the  stile  last 
night,  I  am  going  to  read  him  those  love  songs. " 

"Don't  bear  malice,  Miss  Grace,"  said  Alison, 
lighting  a  cigar,  and  speaking  between  puffs; 
"  you  are  too  good  a  girl." 

"Don't  be  too  blind  to  know  your  own  when 
you  come  to  it,  Fra  Lippo,"  she  answered, 
mimicking  him  with  a  bit  of  twig  in  her  mouth; 
"for  I  may  want  you  to  help  me  out  with  my 
novel,  and  besides,  you  are  too  good  a  fellow.'* 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  good-humoredly.  "If  I 
find  myself  too  blind  I  may  come  to  you  to  be 
led." 

"  You  may  come  right  now,"  she  said, promptly, 
"and  I  will  lead  you  for  a  walk — both  of  you. 
Judith  needs  a  rest.  She  is  the  only  one  of  us 
who  has  anything  to  show  for  to-day's  work.  I 
don't  believe  you  have  written  a  dozen  lines,  Fra 
Lippo — shameful  waste  of  valuable  time." 

"Then  I  had  better  set  to  work  at  once  and 


GALEED.  213 

waste  no  more,''  he  said,  reaching  for  a  portfolio; 
but  Grace  got  it  first. 

"No  you  don't,"  she  said,  capturing  it. 
"Major  sent  you  as  an  escort,  and  your  duty  is 
to  see  that  we  don't  get  stuck  in  the  mud,  or 
kidnapped  by  the  Montauks.  I  want  to  explore 
the  woods  and  see  how  far  back  they  reach.  You 
must  go  as  cavalier,  and  as  the  proper  thing  for 
an  individual  of  my  age  is  a  chaperon,  Mrs. 
Holmes  must  be  the  martyr  and  come  along." 

And  stacking  books  and  emptied  lunch-basket 
against  a  tree,  they  started  from  the  shore  back 
into  the  shadowy  woods  where  the  tall  ferns  grew 
knee-high  with  here  and  there  white  shells  from 
the  sea  imbedded  about  their  brown  roots. 

Grace  amused  herself  by  darting  ahead  until 
she  was  hidden  by  the  shrubbery,  and  then  giving 
vent  to  shrill  yelps  in  staccato  fashion  that  she 
fondly  imagined  were  imitations  of  Indian  war- 
whoops. 

"I  heard  them  bark  like  that  at  the  Wild  West 
show,"  she  explained  to  them,  as  if  too  honest  to 
claim  undeservingly  any  credit  for  being  the 
founder  of  this  new  school  of  music.  "And  I 
did  not  think  them  at  all  terrific — neither  their 
whoop  nor  their  war  dance.  I  can  do  that,  too;  I 
did  it  for  papa  after  we  came  home  that  evening, 
and  as  a  reward  he  wouldn't  let  me  go  even  to  a 
theatre  for  a  month  after.  This  is  it." 

And  straightway  Miss  Grace  began  her  dance 
with  thumbs  pointed  heavenward  and  an  alter- 
nate lifting  of  feet,  as  if  the  thing  they  stood 


214  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

on  was  too  hot  for  comfort,  the  while  moving  in 
dismal  sort  of  time  to  slow  monotone  of  song  that 
sounded  like  an  introduction  to  the  demon  music 
of  a  pantomime. 

Her  auditors,  more  critical  than  enthusiastic, 
tried,  between  fits  of  laughter,  to  bribe  her  to 
cease,  a  bribery  she  spurned  as  all  art  should. 

"You're  jealous,"  she  said,  after  she  had 
brought  the  dance  to  a  close  by  a  series  of  yelps 
that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  Comanche; 
''that's  why  you  insist  that  the  thumb  part  of 
the  dance  is  Chinese.  That  only  goes  to  prove 
that  I  am  an  artist  capable  of  blending  the  poetry 
of  motion  of  two  races  into  a  grand  masterpiece 
that  would  astonish  specimens  of  either  nation." 

"It  undoubtedly  would,"  assented  Alison, 
dryly,  "what  an  unappreciative  parent,  not  to 
encourage  your  talent  in  that  direction." 

"That's  irony,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head 
sagaciously  at  Judith.  "High  art  can  afford  to 
ignore  such  trifles,  therefore,  I  ignore  it.  I  am 
not  at  all  egotistical,  but  I  know  jealousy  when  I 
see  it." 

And  striding  with  a  tragic  air  through  the  ferns 
and  grass  she  was  soon  out  of  sight  in  the 
shrubbery. 

The  other  two  found  conversation  a  difficult 
thing  to  manage,  and  so  when  left  alone  with  the 
silence  of  the  woods  about  them,  he  grew  quiet  in 
a  way  that  might  have  been  half  moody,  as  he 
would  stand  watching  her  collect  the  green 
feathers  and  bright  bits  of  leaves  or  grass  that 


GALEED.  215 

went  to  make  up  a  great  bouquet  with  the  sweet, 
wild  smell  of  the  earth  clinging  to  them. 

He  thought  she  was  right  when  she  had  laid 
claim  to  a  touch  of  Indian  nature.  Not  else, 
he  thought,  could  she  so  busy  herself  in  the  little 
secrets  of  the  herbs,  questioning  the  moss  growth 
of  its  faithfulness  to  the  cold,  repelling  stone 
where  it  crept;  drawing  great  armfuls  of  sweet 
bay  toward  her,  and  burying  her  face  in  its 
cool  leaves,  closing  her  eyes  in  drunken  fash- 
ion at  its  fragrance.  As  quick  as  Grace  in  darting 
under  branches  and  through  shrubbery  for  a  bit 
of  bright-hued  treasure,  she  was  yet  more  silent. 

"All  nature  seems  one's  own  personal  posses- 
sion when  one  has  the  wildness  of  the  woods  so 
close  about  one,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  that 
steady,  curious  look  of  his  at  the  embrace  of  the 
branches. 

"All  passive  nature,"  he  corrected.  "I  know 
your  sweeping  assertions  really  apply  only  to  the 
herbs  you  gather,  pretty  leaves  that  look  bright 
for  a  few  hours  but  are  unconscious  of  your  care." 

"I  am  never  sure  they  are  unconscious,"  she 
returned,  quickly,  as  if  to  skip  over  the  sugges- 
tion underlying  that  remark.  He  knew  the  tone 
of  that  speech  was  contemptible  in  him,  but  all 
his  quiet  watching  of  the  girlish,  provoking  form 
had  found  vent  in  that  half  protest. 

"They  do  not  seem  passive  to  me,"  she  con- 
tinued, "the  things  of  the  woods  always  keep 
fresh  for  me  so  long — longer  by  far  than  culti- 
vated flowers — and  that  is  an  unusual  thing  you 


216  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

know,  so  I  have  made  up  my  mind  they  are  not 
unconscious,  they  have  a  soul  for  me." 

"You  give  it  to  them,"  he  said,  and  turned 
away  as  she  looked  questioningly  at  him.  An 
instant  more  of  those  eyes  on  his,  and  he  knew 
he  would  have  said:  "I  do  not  wonder,  you 
awaken  theirs  as  you  do  mine,  you  draw  souls  to 
you,  and  arouse  temptations  to  ask  for  all  your 
own  in  return." 

Did  she  guess  at  all  of  that  struggle  under  the 
terseness  of  his  tone?  She  grew  silent  again, 
making  no  sign.  And  they  walked  on,  on  through 
the  broken  paths  after  Grace.  And  the  sky  grew 
darker  by  spells  as  clouds  seemed  to  drop  lower 
over  the  tree-tops,  and  the  birds  began  to  twitter 
to  each  other  of  coming  change. 

"We  shall  have  a  storm  to-night,"  she  said, 
glancing  upward. 

"And  the  night  is  not  so  far  off  as  you  might 
imagine,"  he  replied,  glancing  at  his  watch,  "it 
is  almost  six  o'clock." 

"  So  late!"  she  said  in  surprise,  "  where  has  the 
day  gone?" 

' '  It  has  not  gone  unrecorded  at  least, ' '  he  began, 
and  then  stopped,  setting  his  teeth  determinedly 
with  the  vow  to  let  no  more  words  be  drawn  from 
him  by  impulse  or  circumstances.  He  would  not 
let  her  think  him  so  altogether  weak. 

"We  must  find  Grace;  we  must  go  back  at 
once, ' '  she  said,  hurriedly.  * '  We  have  come  a  long 
way  from  the  shore  have  we  not?  It  will  be  late 
when  we  get  home." 


GALEED.  217 

"I  think  we  have  walked  farther  than  we  have 
realized,"  he  answered;  "we  shall  learn  that 
when  we  attempt  to  retrace  our  steps.  And  our 
trip  across  the  water  will  take  some  time.  Yes, 
we  had  better  hurry  if  we  want  a  hot  dinner." 

Grace,  perched  on  a  fence  away  ahead  of  them, 
refused  to  come  back  until  they  paid  her  a  visit. 

"  I  can  see  away  down  the  road,"  she  shouted, 
"and  there's  a  buggy  coming  this  way;  I  do 
believe  it's  the  major.  Let  us  wait  and  see,  never 
mind  if  it  does  rain,  we  won't  melt." 

Sure  enough,  it  was  the  major,  and  Mrs.  Wi- 
nans  smiling  a  little  nervously  as  she  glanced  up 
at  the  darkening  clouds. 

"Out  here  yet?"  called  the  major  from  the 
road.  "It's  time  you  young  folks  were  heading 
toward  home." 

"We  are  going,"  answered  Grace,  "I  only 
waited  to  see  if  it  was  you — sure.  What  have 
you  got  in  the  basket." 

"Peaches!"  said  the  major,  smacking  his  lips 
in  appreciation.  "Beauties;  great,  big,  yellow 
fellows  from  Maryland.  Come,  jump  into  the 
bugg}7".  You  can  have  your  share  now." 

"She  must  wait  for  her  share,"  called  Mrs. 
Holmes,  "  we  must  go  back  to  the  boat  at  once." 

"  Perhaps  she  had  better  drive  back  with  us," 
suggested  Mrs.  Winans;  "the  wind  is  rising — it 
will  be  one  less  to  carry  across  the  water." 

The  three  picnickers  glanced  at  each  other. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Holmes, rather  hastily,  "that 
would  never  do;  you  must  not  turn  deserter." 


218  IN  LOVP;'S  DOMAINS. 

"But  it  does  seem  a  sensible  plan,"  debated 
Grace,  "getting  home  will  take  hard  work 
against  the  wind,  and  then  think  of  the  peaches, 
Judith!  I  will  have  some  with  cream  on  for  you 
by  the  time  you  get  home.  Say  yes,  that's  a 
good  girl." 

"No,  no,  we  are  only  wasting  valuable  time  dis- 
cussing it.  Come,  don't  be  bribed  by  peaches." 

There  was  an  instant's  indecision,  and  then  the 
major  said,  insinuatingly: 

"  There  is  a  box  of  Maillard's  chocolate  creams 
in  my  pocket  for  somebody." 

That  settled  it.  The  "somebody"  made  a  wild 
lunge  over  the  fence,  calling  as  she  went: 

"Look  after  my  book  of  *  Arnon,'  Fra  Lippo, 
I  don't  dare  ask  Judith,  because  she  disapproves 
of  my  weakness,  but  I  will  have  your  peaches  and 
cream  ready  for  you  when  you  get  home.  Good- 
bye! Take  double  care  of  her  because  you  have 
only  one  to  look  after  now.  Major,  which  pocket 
is  the  box  in?" 

And  with  a  deprecating  smile  from  Mrs. 
Winans,  and  a  victorious  laugh  from  the  major, 
the  buggy  whirled  down  the  road,  leaving  those 
two  standing  there  alone  under  the  threatening 
sky. 

"Well  this  is  rather —  '  he  began,  and  then 
hesitated  a  moment.  When  he  spoke  again  it  was 
only  to  remark:  "That  was  rather  quick  work." 

"Never  mind,"  she  said,  as  if  trying  to  per- 
suade herself  not  to  mind;  "we  must  make  the 
best  of  it." 


GALEED. 

And  from  the  tone  of  each  a  third  person  would 
have  said  that  neither  appeared  anxious  for  that 
tete-a-tete  journey  home. 

"Come,  we  may  as  well  start  at  once,"  he  said, 
brusquely.  "Let  me  carry  those  things  for 
you." 

"Those  things"  were  the  ferns  and  grasses  of 
which  he  had  felt  so  nearly  jealous.  But  she 
shook  her  head,  gathering  them  close  up  to  her 
in  one  arm. 

' '  Thanks,  no.  I  can  manage  them,  and  myself, 
too,  very  nicely."  The  latter  part  of  the  speech 
was  in  reply  to  an  offered  hand  in  walking  over  a 
swampy  place  in  the  meadow  path. 

The  wind  had  risen  suddenly  and  was  blowing 
a  regular  gale,  while  the  clouds  shifted  and 
drifted  in  great  banks  overhead.  Alison  glanced 
dubiously  at  them  and  dropped  back  a  step  or  so 
until  he  was  close  beside  her. 

"That  wind  is  rather  sweeping  as  it  comes 
across  here,"  he  remarked.  "I  may  shelter  you 
from  it  a  little." 

"What?  I  could  not  hear  you,"  she  panted, 
as  a  strong  gust  of  wind  lifted  her  Scotch  cap 
and  an  instant  later  would  have  carried  it  away, 
but  that  he  caught  it,  and  with  her  one  free  hand 
and  both  of  his  the  unruly  article  was  pulled 
down  over  her  hair;  the  hair  he  had  kissed 
unknown  to  her,  but  from  which  he  turned  delib- 
erately now.  One  is  in  part  the  conqueror  who 
knows  his  own  weakness. 

"  I  may  shelter  you  some  from  this  side,"  he 


220  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

half  shouted,  for  they  were  nearer  the  timber  and 
the  noise  of  the  wind  greater.  "That  was  what 
I  was  trying  to  say." 

"Never  mind.  I  like  storms,  and  am  strong 
enough  to  stand  alone." 

Just  for  a  moment  a  lull  in  the  wind  made  clear 
a  word  he  was  impelled  to  at  the  picture  of  that 
slight  form  in  the  world's  gales;  it  was: 

"Always?" 

"I  hope  so,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  clearly 
as  she  could  with  the  wind  in  her  eyes.  "Yes,  I 
shall  have  to." 

It  was  the  first  time  her  position  had  ever  been 
touched  on  between  them.  Was  it  the  fault  of 
the  magnetic  currents  of  the  storm  that  perme- 
ated themselves,  and  made  vision  and  speech 
clear-cut  and  incisive. 

"  I  hope,  then,  that  the  storms  will  all  be  light 
ones,"  he  said;  and  she  bowed  her  head  as  if  to 
tell  him  she  heard,  but  no  word  was  spoken  until 
they  reached  the  edge  of  the  timber. 

Just  for  a  little  she  halted  there,  glancing  up  at 
the  changeful  evening  sky,  back  over  the  meadow, 
and  then  into  the  wood,  all  so  changed!  everything 
grown  so  dark.  All  the  light  left  in  the  heavens 
was  the  streaks  of  dull  red  and  copper  that  looked 
like  reflections  from  some  immense  furnace. 

"It  all  looks  weird,  uncanny,"  she  said,  smiling 
vaguely,  but  not  looking  at  him,  "  it  is  because  of 
the  sudden  change,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  and  then  that  moment's 
halting  of  hers  made  him  wonder  in  a  half  irrita- 


GALEED.  221 

ted  f  asMon  as  if  lie  had  made  her  doubt  him  by 
his  own  confessions. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

Then  she  did  look  at  him. 

"Afraid!  of  what?" 

"  Of  the  storm  of  course,"  he  added,  rather 
hastily. 

And  she  smiled  up  at  him  as  she  said:  "It's 
not  five  minutes  since  I  told  you  I  liked  them. 
Has  the  wind  blown  your  memory  away?" 

"You  had  better  come  on,"  he  said,  as  if  not 
hearing  her  question. 

"Yes,  I  will  come,"  she  said,  taking  a  step 
further  into  the  wood.  "  Its  all  very  uncanny- 
looking  ahead  there,  but  —  yes,  we  must  go 
on." 

Yes,  no  matter  how  doubtfully  we  look  into 
the  future,  still  the  past  that  is  so  eager  to  swal- 
low up  all  that  is,  drives  souls  onward  to  meet 
that  which  is  to  be. 

Was  it  some  such  thought  that  checked  the 
woman  there  that  evening  at  the  edge  of  the  wood 
and  the  edge  of  the  storm? 

No  rain  had  fallen,  only  the  threats  murmured 
through  distant  thunder,  and  far  off  the  lightning 
flashes  prepared  them  for  anything  as  they  hurried 
through  the  trees.  He  had  offered  his  arm,  which 
she  refused  with  a  smiling  shake  of  her  head. 

"Is  she  so  afraid  of  touching  me?"  he  asked 
himself  half -savagely;  and  together  with  that  was 
a  half -resolve  to  leave  the  next  day.  Something 
was  always  giving  him  an  impulse  to  say  just  the 


222  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

things  lie  had  no  right  to  say,  and — yes,  he  would 
go  away. 

"Look  out  there!"  he  warned,  as  some  round 
bowlders  half-hidden  by  ferns  made  an  uncer- 
tain foothold.  "I  know  you  are  too  indepen- 
dent to  want  assistance,  but  you  may  not  resent 
a  warning." 

"Certainly  not,"  she  said,  trying  to  laugh 
carelessly;  "warnings  are  always  in  order,  but 
I  have  considerable  mule  in  my  composition  when 
it  comes  to  my  feet,  and  am  used  to  standing  on 
my  own  responsibility,"  and  then  suddenly,  she 
asked:  "  Should  we  not  surely  be  near  the  boat 
by  this  time?" 

"  Does  the  way  seem  so  long  then?"  He  did  not 
add,  "  with  me"  but  the  tone  implied  it,  and  her 
avoidance  of  him  provoked  it,  scattering  what 
little  judgment  he  had  left. 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  she  said  quietly,  and  he 
strode  on  a  step  ahead  of  her  in  silence  that  seemed 
moody,  and  a  little  later  she  added  in  a  hali'-hes- 
itating  way:  "  You  are  not  like  yourself  this  even- 
ing. I  think  you  are  inclined  to  be  a  little  hard 
on  me  in  your  thoughts." 

"Don't  speak  like  that,"  he  answered  abruptly. 
"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying  to  me." 

She  only  looked  at  him,  but  did  not  speak,  and 
after  a  little  he  said:  "Try  to  pardon  that 
speech,  it  sounds  rude  to  you,  but  I — I  did  not 
mean  to  be  that,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  so 
our  last  evening  together,  for  I  believe  I  am  going 
away  to-morrow." 


GALEED  223 

"  Going  away!"  for  the  first  time  slie  readied 
out  her  hand  to  him;  was  it  because  of  the  words 
or  for  the  same  reason  that  she  gave  a  low  cry  an 
instant  later,  and  stumbled  forward,  falling  to  her 
knees. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  she  said,  holding  his  hands 
and  leaning  against  him;  only  an  instant  he  held 
her  so,  looking  down  at  her  eyes  that  were  closed. 
After  a  little  she  spoke  again,  rather  uncer- 
tainly. 

"  It  made  me  faint,  just  at  first.  I  was  certain 
of  nothing  but  your  hands,"  then  she  tried  to 
raise  herself  by  his  help. 

"  It  is  my  foot,"  she  began,  and  a  half  moan  of 
pain  broke  from  her;  "  I  can  not  stand  on  it,"  she 
whispered. 

He  said  nothing.  The  clasp  of  her  fingers,  the 
shivering  pressure  of  her  form  against  him,  as  he 
bent  over  her,  took  from  him  the  desire  for 
speech.  He  could  but  think  in  a  wild  fashion  of 
the  sweetness  of  it,  that  had  a  sort  of  fear  as  a 
background. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  and  his  arm,  circling  her 
waist,  gave  him  a  guilty  feeling,  simply  because  it 
gave  him  a  pleasure  he  dared  not  acknowledge. 

"  I  can  not,"  as  she  tried  with  his  assistance  to 
walk;  "  I  can  not  even  step  on  my  foot.  I  think  I 
sprained  my  ankle  on  the  stone  that  slipped." 

He  glanced  from  her  to  the  path  ahead  of  them, 
through  the  woods  that  were  growing  darker,  and 
through  which  he  could  not  yet  see  the  gleam  of 
the  water. 


224  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  trying  to  smile,  "  it  is  a  long 
way;  and  what  in  the  world  am  I  to  do?" 

"Try  again,"  he  suggested,  with  a  grim  deter- 
mination not  to  indulge  himself  in  the  one  method 
by  which  he  could  have  got  her  to  the  boat,  "lean 
on  my  arm — now!" 

Another  trial,  and  her  face  whitened  with  pain, 
as  she  sank  limply  on  the  ground.  ' '  Ah,  how 
can  you  make  me  try  when  you  see  that  I  can 
not." 

The  piteous  appeal  was  wrung  from  her  by  the 
pain,  and  that  deadly  faintness  that  followed  it, 
and  in  a  moment  all  his  bonds  of  restraint  were 
broken  by  that  protest  against  what  she  felt  was 
his  cruelty  to  her.  And  when  she  opened  her 
eyes  his  arms  were  about  her,  and  her  head  on  his 
knee. 

"  You  go,"  she  whispered,  "  send  some  one — a 
doctor,  I  suppose — it  may  be  broken.  But  please 
hurry." 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,"  he  said,  decidedly. 

"  But  really  I  am  not  afraid;  it  will  not  be  long 
to  wait.  They  can  drive  back  for  me,  you  know, 
and — and — please  go." 

Her  eyes  were  raised  so  pleadingly  to  his  face; 
was  she  pleading  against  her  own  wish  as  well  as 
his?  He  did  not  stop  to  reason  the  question  then. 
He  only  read  in  a  vague  way  that  while  the  voice, 
trying  to  master  itself ,  said  ugo,"  the  eyes,  un- 
conscious through  pain,  said  "  stay." 

"  I  will  not,"  he  muttered,  and  his  face  dropped 
a  little  lower  over  her  own. 


GALEED.  225 

There  was  only  the  woods  and  the  storm  about 
them,  and  in  the  shelter  of  his  arms,  content  was 
trying  to  creep  through  the  faintness  and  pain. 

"  No? "  she  said,  making  a  last  effort  to  be  sim- 
ply inquiring,  and  raising  herself  a  little  higher 
from  his  knee.  And  then  meeting  his  eyes  she 
could  go  no  further;  what  was  told  in  that  one 
gaze  for  which  neither  could  summon  a  mask? 
Whatever  it  was,  the  wind  whistled  by  unheeded, 
the  storm  passed  from  their  knowledge,  and 
through  the  dusk  they  could  see  only  each  the 
soul  of  the  other. 

"  No!  "  she  tried  to  say  again,  smiling  weakly. 
But  the  whispered  word  was  silenced  by  his  face 
close  against  hers,  and  in  the  domain  she  had 
deemed  "uncanny,"  the  seal  of  their  lives  was 
stamped  by  a  kiss. 

Were  there  any  words  spoken  in  that  confes- 
sion? Neither  could  ever  tell.  But  after  this 
sweetness  of  silence  he  spoke,  and  his  voice  with 
its  new  tone  sounded  odd  and  strange. 

"I  must  get  you  home  quickly,  it  is  growing 
dark." 

"Yes,"  and  her  eyes  raised  to  his  dropped 
again,  and  she  turned  her  face  close  into  the 
hollow  of  his  elbow  in  a  half-shamed  way. 

"  And  you  must  let  me  carry  you." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  and  then,  her  voice 
still  from  the  covert  against  his  coat,  said: 

"  But— can  you?" 

"Can  I!"  How  care  free,  how  boyish  his 
laugh  sounded !  He  thought  as  he  heard  it,  ' '  when 

15 


22C  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

have  I  laughed  like  that  before?"  Carry  her? 
why  the  world  seemed  but  a  feather-weight  in 
the  light  of  this  new  possession. 

Yes,  about  them  was  the  gathered  storm,  beyond 
them  wind  and  tide  to  fight  against  over  the 
course  they  must  take  together.  It  was  a  proph- 
ecy of  lives  to  be  lived.  But  a  kiss  had  drawn  a 
veil  over  past  and  future.  Just  then  the  knowl- 
edge of  possession  made  life  a  thing  lovely  to  be 
lived,  and  he  drew  her  closer,  and  laughed  down 
at  her. 

"  Can  I!  and  will  I?"  he  said,  stubbornly  draw- 
ing her  face  around  until  he  could  see  it.  ' '  Yes, 
you  can  tell  Grace  I  do  know  my  own  when  I 
come  to  it." 

Then  her  arms  crept  about  his  throat,  she  was 
lifted  to  his  breast  together  with  the  mass  of  ferns 
at  touch  of  which  he  laughed  again,  as  he  carried 
his  burden  of  love  back  over  the  wood-path  that 
had  brought  them  into  so  strange  a  land. 

"  Those  poor  leaves!"  he  said  happily.  "  How 
short  a  time  since  I  was  jealous  of  them!"  and 
then  Grace's  words  recurred  to  him  again,  and  he 
said  softly,  "  my  own." 

She  did  not  answer,  she  had  said  no  word.  She 
had  given  herself  into  his  arms,  what  need  was 
there  of  words  after  that.  But  all  the  while 
there  rang  something  in  her  ears  that  said  ' '  false, 
false!" 

She  knew  it  was  a  sweet  lie  they  had  cheated 
themselves  with  for  one  delirious  moment.  She 
knew  she  was  false  as  a  wife,  that  she  had  been 


GALEED.  227 

ever  since  that  day  in  Oyster  Bay  when  watching 
him  dash  his  boat  straight  out  to  the  Sound  he 
had  drawn  her  thoughts  after  him.  She  knew 
there  was  some  one  else,  that  other  girl  to  whom 
she  was  making  him  a  traitor.  And  she  laughed  a 
little  bitterly  as  her  arms  relaxed,  and  she  looked 
up  in  his  face  and  said: 

"  How  much  easier  it  is  to  advocate  high  ideals 
for  others,  than  to  follow  the  simplest  code  of 
morals  for  ourselves." 

u  Put  your  arms  back  as  they  were,"  he  com- 
manded, tenderly,  "  and  don't  speak  like  that." 

"I  will  if  I  want  to.  If  I  am  a  thief,  why 
should  I  not  acknowledge  it?" 

"  You  are  not  that" — and  he  tried  to  draw  her 
face  closer  to  his  and  stop  her  speech,  but  she 
drew  aside. 

"I  am  that,"  she  said,  calmly,  "and  much 
more.  I  am  a  liar  when  I  have  tried  to  have  you 
think  me  better  than  I  am — so  much  better  than 
I  have  been  of  late.  I  have  been,"  and  she  looked 
up  at  him — "  I  have  been  coveting  my  neighbor's 
goods,  and  worse  than  that,  I  have  tried  to  steal 
them  while  my  neighbor  is  away." 

Again  there  was  the  quick  attempt  to  draw  her 
face  to  his. 

"Don't  do  that!  I  would  not  if  I  were  you," 
she  said,  curtly.  "  Go  and  kiss  some  good  woman 
— some  one  who  does  not  deceive  you  with  fair, 
false  witness  for  herself!" 

"Judith!" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  woman  you  said  I  was  like," 


IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

she  continued,  ironically;  "the  woman  with 
earnest  religious  tendencies,  the  woman  of  grand 
sacrifices!  Why  did  you  not  call  me  a  Frou- 
Frou?  I  have  much  more  of  her  timbre  in  me." 

"You  are  unjust  to  yourself,"  he  said,  decid- 
edly. ' '  It  may  be  a  misfortune  to  you  that  this 
has  occurred,  but  it  is  not  a  crime — at  least  the 
fault  is  not  yours.  We  both  tried  to  reason  our- 
selves out  of  it.  I  know  now  that  you  did.  But 
whatever  the  result  is,  you  must  never  blame 
yourself  to  me.  I  know  you,  dear,  too  well." 

She  did  not  answer,  and  a  little  later  the  broken 
quiver  of  her  breath  told  him  she  was  crying. 

He  could  say  nothing.  He  knew  now  that  the 
past  days  had  been  a  strain  on  her  that  he  had 
not  guessed,  and  he  felt  guilty  when  he  thought 
of  how  he  had  added  to  it.  Down  into  the  boat  he 
carried  her,  where  the  wind  rocked  their  light 
craft  as  if  it  were  one  of  the  pink  shells  they  had 
gathered.  Carefully  he  placed  her  that  the 
injured  foot  should  not  suffer  from  wrench  or 
lurch,  and  then  looked  across  the  foamy  waters 
that  were  not  likely  to  reassure  one  who  was  ill  or 
nervous. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  he  asked. 

"With  you?"  and  what  avowal  of  love  could 
mean  more  than  the  words  and  tone,  and  then  she 
said:  "  Come  here!" 

He  dropped  on  his  knee  beside  her,  steadying 
the  boat  with  one  oar  thrust  in  the  sand. 

"I  am  not  a  good  woman,"  she  said,  reaching 
up  and  passing  her  hand  along  his  face.  "  I 


GALEED.  229 

never  am  quite  sure  when  I  think  of  heaven.  But 
now — to-night,  I  should  have  no  fear  of  death.  I 
think  I  should  be  glad.  Happiness  can  not  last 
like — like — you  know,  and  I  think  it  would  be 
easier  to  go  down  under  the  waves  than  to  live 
and  know  it  must  change." 

"  Do  not  dream  of  any  change  in  our  thoughts," 
he  said,  earnestly;  "that  will  never  come. 

"We  do  not  know — a  storm  has  brought  us 
this  stolen  happiness — who  knows  what  the  calm 
may  bring?" 

Who  knows— who  ever  knows?  And  her 
woman' s  eyes  turned  wistfully — always  will  turn 
wistfully  back  toward  those  shadows,  where 
thoughts  unspeakable  had  been  granted  expres- 
sion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Ah,  me!  how  easily  things  grow  wrong. 
A  sigh  too  much,  or  a  kiss  too  long! 
And  there  follows  a  mist  and  a  sweeping  rain, 
And  life  is  never  the  same  again. 


"A  real  adventure,  wasn't  it?"  said  Grace, 
appreciatingly .  ' '  How  delightful ! ' ' 

"Delightful  to  be  laid  up  with  a  sprained 
ankle,"  queried  Mrs.  Holmes,  ironically. 

"No,  of  course  I'm  sorry  to  see  you  suffer,  and 
you  did,  awfully,  didn't  you,  dear?  No,  those 
things  are  only  romantic  in  theory." 


230  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"They  are  not  according  to  any  theory  of 
mine." 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean — not  the  ankle 
—the  rest  of  it." 

"The  rest  of  it?"  repeated  Mrs.  Winans,  in 
mild  questioning.  "My  dear  Grace,  when  you 
do  air  your  ideas,  try  and  make  them  more 
explicit." 

"You  dear  bit  of  prunes  and  prisms,"  said 
the  girl,  darting  toward  the  old  lady,  and  treat- 
ing her  to  a  convulsive  hug.  "You're  as  bad  as 
papa,  and  worse  than  Tom.  You  know  I  mean  the 
rest  of  the — the  episode — is  that  correct?  the  pic- 
turesque helplessness,  and  a  cavalier  to  carry  you 
in  his  arms;  how  delightful;  wish  it  had  been  I. 
Say,  Judith,  did  you  imagine  him  Captain  Kidd 
carrying  you  away  to  the  stormy  seas?  I  should 
have  had  a  whole  romance  conjured  up  by  the 
time  he  had  landed  the  boat  and  lugged  you 
home." 

"Lugged  would  not  sound  romantic,  I  fear," 
suggested  the  cripple. 

"N — no,  it  is  rather  matter  of  fact.  But  I 
should  imagine  that  getting  you  here  was  a  prac- 
tical affair  for  him — a  muscular  one  at  all  events — 
the  pull  across  that  bay  in  the  wind  was  a  terror." 

"Yes;"  and  Mrs.  Winans  raised  her  brows 
ever  so  slightly. 

"A  most  difficult  feat  for  one  man  single- 
handed  and  alone  to  accomplish,"  said  Grace,  in 
parrot-like  fashion,  dropping  a  courtesy  at  the 
finish. 


GALEED.  231 

"  Am  I  a  nonentity,  then?"  asked  Mrs.  Holmes, 
plaintively,  "  he  had  two  hands,  and  he  was  not 
alone;  that  is  if  I  count  for  anything." 

"Which  you  decidedly  did,"  remarked  Grace, 
frankly.  "You  counted  for  about  110  pounds 
when  he  carried  you  up  them  steps,  and  his  face 
flushed  as  if  he'd  caught  a  fever  from  your 
sprained  ankle." 

"Grace!" 

"Well,  he  did;  but  don't  be  alarmed,  he's  over 
it  this  morning.  I  saw  him  at  breakfast,  and  he 
looked  interestingly  natural  as  usual;  asked  how 
you  are;  can  he  come  to  see  you,  or  be  of  any 
use  in  any  way,  etc.,  etc." 

They  wheeled  the  sofa  on  which  she  lay  close 
up  to  the  window  of  her  sitting-room,  and  out 
across  the  verandah  she  could  get  a  view  of  the 
bay,  sleeping  in  peace  through  the  late  morning  to 
make  amends  for  its  riotous  lashing  through  the 
wakeful  night. 

"How  still  it  looks,"  she  thought,  a  little  bit- 
terly. "  How  well  it  hides  the  dark  possibilities 
under  its  surface.  It  is  as  much  of  a  liar  as  I  am." 

Up  across  the  meadow  she  saw  a  tall  form  strid- 
ing over  the  short  grass  toward  the  house.  What 
was  that  in  his  hands?  Only  a  few  red  leaves  and 
the  shells  they  had  gathered  the  day  before — only 
one  day  ago!  All  through  the  night  that  day  had 
given  them  both  food  for  thought,  and  now  as 
she  saw  him  through  the  window,  and  as  he  saw 
her  across  the  road,  the  eyes  of  each  fell  at  the 
memories  thronging  close.  But  he  came  straight 


232  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

to  her,  his  i'ace  pale  and  earnest.  Yes,  the  fever 
of  the  night  had  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  a 
steadfastness  that  gave  her  courage. 

"They  were  not  washed  away?"  she  asked, 
quietly,  taking  the  trophies  in  one  hand  and  giving 
him  the  other,  which  he  held  so  closely,  so 
reassuringly,  until  that  warm  clasp  forced  her  to 
raise  her  eyes  to  his. 

"No,  these  few  remained  faithful;  they  knew 
you  would  want  them  this  morning.  How  are 
you?" 

"You  see!"  and  she  glanced  at  her  own  out- 
lined figure  on  the  lounge,  and  then:  "  I  have  not 
even  thanked  you  for  last  night,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  do— for— all  of  it." 

He  smiled  ever  .so  slightly  at  that.  "  You 
thank  me — ah!  my  dear — my  dear — " 

"Don't!" 

"Friend,"  he  added,  as  if  finishing  the  sen- 
tence. 

"That is  better,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him. 
"  That  is  how  we  must  try  to  think." 

Her  voice  was  not  very  steady,  and  to  the  man 
watching  her  she  had  never  looked  so  lovely 
as  with  that  light  of  resolve  on  her  face — that 
tremulous  sweetness  of  the  mouth  that  was  try- 
ing so  hard  to  conform  its  curves  to  duty,  though 
so  late. 

They  were  alone  now.  Mrs.  Winans  and  Grace 
had  just  gone  for  a  short  walk  with  the  major, 
and  with  admonitions  to  take  care  of  the  invalid 
in  their  absence.  Alison  was  left  with  his  chair 


GALEED.  233 

drawn  up  to  the  window  inside  of  which  she  lay. 
"  You  Look  troubled,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
earnestly.  ' '  Don' t  be. " 

"  I  am  troubled,  and  I  deserve  to  be  troubled," 
she  answered,  her  eyes  on  the  figures  in  the  car- 
pet. "You  see — last  night — well,  I  have  been 
very  miserable  lately,  in  more  ways  than  you 
know,  and  I  suppose  I  am  turning  coward;  I  never 
used  to  be  so — so  weak,  but  sometimes  I  have 
wanted,  so  much,  friendship  such  as  yours  might 
be  if — if  we  could  but  be  true  to  it." 

"My  friend!"  he  said,  half  appealingly,  laying 
his  hand  on  hers;  but  she  went  on,  still  speaking 
in  a  low,  monotonous  sort  of  way,  as  if  trying  to 
bar  out  all  feeling,  all  light  and  shade  from  her 
tones. 

"  And  last  night  when  you  were  sorry  for  me— 
well,  it  made  me  weak,  in  a  way,  and  I  think  we 
both  forgot  there  would  have  to  be  to-morrows 
and  to-morrows.  But  we  must  remember,  now." 

A  little  while  they  sat  in  silence,  and  then  he 
said: 

"Yes,  we  must  remember,  now.  I  will  try  to 
remember,  or  do  anything  you  wish.  I  want  you 
to  be  content.  Try  not  to  look  troubled.  Be  a 
little  glad,  can't  you?" 

"You  are  very  good  to  me;  few,  I  think,  would 
be  so — so  sympathetic  toward  a  woman  who  for- 
got herself  as  I  did." 

"  Don't  speak  like  that — you!  were  you  alone? 
Look  up  here!"  and  when  the  drooping  face  was 
raised  he  continued:  "You  must  not  grow 


234  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

morbid  over  this,  you  think  of  it  too  seriously 
as—" 

"Seriously!"  she  broke  in  with  a  burst  of 
humiliation.  "Am  I  ever  likely  to  forget,  or  feel 
less  ashamed  when  I — ah,  how  can  you  expect  me 
to  think  of  that  carelessly?  If  I  did,  I  should  be 
worth  altogether  the  worst  of  your  thoughts." 

"  You  will  have  always  only  the  best  of  them," 
he  said,  earnestly;  "and  I'  should  not  like  to 
think  you  would  forget.  I  know  I  never  shall." 

"You  may  remember — yes;"  she  said,  looking 
at  him  curiously.  "But  I  feel  as  if  I  have  helped 
make  you  lose  faith  a  little  in  women — and  then 
remembrance  will  be  only  regret." 

He  got  up  abruptly,  and  walked  across  the 
verandah,  and  then  came  back  to  her. 

"I  can  see  that  no  matter  how  unhappy  they 
make  you,  the  bonds  of  the  past  are  things  you 
do  not  think  of  breaking.  I  can  say  nothing  to 
you  of  those.  I  have  not  been  free  to  say  even 
so  much  as  I  have.  But  I  want  to  be  your  friend 
—if  in  that  way  I  can  help  you  to  secure  a  little 
content.  And  when  you  speak  of  regret — oh,  my 
dear!  my  dear!  the  only  regret  you  can  bring  me 
is  that  we  did  not  meet  earlier." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  truth  in  his  tone. 
The  sight  of  the  half-shamed  face  that  he  had 
always  seen  so  independent,  and  the  thought  of 
her  supposed  humiliation  in  his  eyes,  made  him 
long  to  take  her  in  his  arms — to  tell  her  in  all  fond 
ways  how  much  she  was  to  him. 

"  We  must  not  speak  like  that  to  each  other 


GALEED.  235 

again,"  she  said,  slowly;  "not  if  we  are  to  know 
each  other — to  try  to  be  friends." 

"  And  we  will  be,"  he  half  asked,  half  decided, 
"more  earnest,  helpful  friends  than  before, 
because  we  know  each  other  now." 

"Do  we?"  she  asked,  naively.  "I  am  not 
sure;  you  may  not  know  me  at  all,  even  yet." 

"  I  know  you  enough  to  be  proud  of  you." 

"But  suppose  I  am  not  able  to  keep  up  to 
those  high  ideals  of  friendship  we  have  spoken  of 
so  often — suppose  I  am  again  a  failure?"  and  she 
smiled  rather  nervously.  The  morning  was  a  test 
to  her.  She  had  had  all  the  night  to  think  of  it — 
to  see  the  truth  in  herself — both  her  strength  and 
her  weakness,  and  she  had  slighted  neither. 

"We  will  help  each  other."  His  tone  of  con- 
viction left  her  without  words  for  a  little,  and 
when  she  spoke  it  was  as  a  general  who  gives  up 
a  field  from  one  point  and  attempts  a  recapture 
from  another. 

"  You  spoke  of  going  away — will  you?" 

"  Not  until  you  are  able  to  walk,  at  least." 

Another  silence,  and  then — "You  know  some- 
thing of  how  I  have  lived — I  mean — alone?" 

"Yes — don't  speak  of  it  if — if  it  is  unpleasant. 
It  must  have  been  a  great  mistake." 

"It  was — for  Mr.  Holmes,"  she  rejoined,  ironi- 
cally. "  Oh,  don't  look  at  me  as  if  I  was  jesting 
at  something  sacred — sacred!  oh,  God!" 

And  her  head  dropped  forward  on  the  window- 
ledge,  and  he  could  see  that  she  was  quivering 
with  suppressed  sobs.  It  was  misery  for  him  to 


236  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

see  her  so,  yet  know  that  no  words  of  his — that 
God  himself  could  not  help  her  except  by  blotting 
out  memory. 

After  a  while  she  spoke,  but  with  her  forehead 
still  low  there  on  the  wood-work,  his  hand  stroking 
her  hair,  with  a  caress  in  every  touch  of  his 
fingers. 

"And  so  you  see  life  has  been  a  very  bitter 
thing  to  me  sometimes.  And  I  have  needed- 
have  wanted  not  sympathy  so  much  as  under- 
standing, and  now — now  that  it  has  come,  I  am 
afraid." 

"  You  dear  woman!" 

"But  I  want  you  to  know  we  must  not  let  the 
time  come  when  we  can  not  be  honest  with  each 
other." 

"  No,  go  on,  what  is  it  you  want  to  tell  me? " 

"Give  me  your  hand  first — so!  across  my  eyes, 
and  try  to  understand  me.  There  have  been 
times  in  my  life  when  friendship  such  as  yours 
would  have  been  a  great  temptation  to  me;  times 
when  I  was  so  miserable  that  I  was  reckless.  If— 
if  those  times  should  return — " 

His  fingers  closed  tight  over  her  own  for  an 
instant. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said,  slowly — earnestly; 
"Try  to  trust  me  a  little  longer,  enough  to 
prove  to  you  that  friendship  is  not  a  thing  to  fear. 
I  wish  I  could  take  your  weight  of  unhappiness 
and  bear  it  for  you." 

"  No  one  can — ever,"  she  said,  more  composedly, 
the  very  clasp  of  his  fingers  had  helped  her  to  a 


GALEED.  237 

sort  of  strength.  "I  suppose,  being  married,  I 
should  not  say  such  things  to  another  man.  I 
know  I  should  not.  But,  lately,  I  have  been  so 
tired,  so  heart-sick,  and  when  I  saw  that  you 
understood  it — well,  I  turned  coward  all  at  once, 
and — and  I  wonder  how  you  will  think  of  me  in 
the  future." 

"As  I  always  have  thought  of  you;  good 
thoughts,  and  I  know  you  will  deserve  them." 

"  It  is  good  to  hear  you  say  that,  to  know  that 
you  believe  in  me;  you  can  not  know  how  it 
helps  me." 

"  I  know  how  you  helped  me,  by  having  faith 
in  me  even  before  we  met.  I  never  can  repay  you; 
let  me  do  what  little  I  can  in  return;  let  me  be 
your  friend." 

"  My  friend,"  she  repeated,  raising  tear- wet 
eyes  to  his  face;  "and  if — if  the  time  comes — " 

"If  the  time  comes  when  we  can  not  be  honest, 
and  only  friends — yes — I  will  go  away." 

So  they  spoke,  clasping  hands  there  by  the  win- 
dow; so  they  thought,  looking  at  each  other  with 
tender,  earnest  eyes,  and  in  the  heart  of  each 
there  was  the  silent  resolve:  "I  will  be  worthy." 

Was  the  echo  of  words  of  yesterday  dumb?  Had 
it  been  stilled  by  the  murmur  of  the  pines,  or  the 
dip  of  the  sea?  Somewhere,  it  had  wandered 
surely,  and  in  its  stead  had  crept  a  sprite  akin  to 
duty,  and  looking  through  their  eyes  it  made 
them  feel  that  the  welfare  of  each  depended  on 
the  smothering  of  that  sense  that  tried  to  whisper 
warningly: 


238  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"And  straightway  there  was  no  other  woman, 
and  there  was  no  other  man  in  the  whole  world  to 
either  of  them,  ever  again." 


CHAPTER  X. 

We  boast  our  light;  but,  if  we  look  not  wisely 
On  the  sun  itself,  it  smites  us  into  darkness. 

The  days  that  followed  were  days  of  sweet  sug- 
gestions to  those  natures  that  had  been  in  a  way 
world-weary.  Ah,  the  long,  quiet  talks  through 
the  days  and  the  nights  of  that  season!  and  the 
new  trustfulness  of  the  thing  they  called  friend- 
ship! She  was  still  unable  to  walk,  and  her  little 
sitting-room  became  the  gathering-ground  for  the 
party.  And  many  a  sketch  was  made,  from  her  sofa 
or  easy-chair,  of  her  four  friends,  in  the  various 
groupings  into  which  they  would  drop  uncon- 
sciously, until  the  major  vowed  he  could  never  sit 
comfortably  lazy  any  more,  for  fear  he  might  be 
ungraceful,  and  if  he  was  in  range  of  her  eyes 
he  knew  his  little  captain  would  have  an  outline 
of  his  proportions  on  paper. 

Other  eyes  than  his  crept  into  her  sketch-book 
in  those  days,  in  the  days  when  he,  her  first  friend, 
would  bring  pencil  and  tablet,  and  read  aloud,  now 
and  then,  bits  of  the  new  work  he  was  busy  on;  a 
half-historical  romance  of  the  old  Indian  govern- 
ment of  Long  Island;  and  ah!  how  delightful  it 
was  to  work  so,  feeling  so  close  a  soul  that  vibrated 


GALEED.  239 

to  every  touch  of  feeling,  to  every  subtle  sense 
that  to  a  creator  of  ideal  work  is  as  his  own  heart- 
beats. And  then,  as  a  guerdon  for  work  well  done, 
just  a  hand  clasp — just  the  words:  "It is  good." 
And  what  an  inspiration  that  presence  was;  what 
wild  flights  of  fancy  were  led  by  her  into  realms 
of  the  imagination  that  had  never  been  opened  to 
him  alone! 

' '  You  do  help  me.  I  think  you  are  leaving  the 
impress  of  your  own  personality  on  all  my  work," 
he  said  to  her  one  day  when,  on  reading  over  the 
loose  sheets,  he  was  struck  by  the  new  music  of 
words  he  had  written  as  a  narration,  and  that  half 
unconsciously  had  taken  coloring  from  this  new 
vein  of  spring-time  in  his  blood.  "  You  are  mak- 
ing of  me  a  poor  poet,  where  before  I  was  but  a 
chronicler." 

"Then  it  has  all  been  well,  there  is  no  cause 
for — for  regret — to  youf 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment.  How  close  he  had 
need  to  keep  bonds  on  his  speech,  or  his  -manner 
since  the  night  of  the  storm,  only  himself  knew. 
But,  little  by  little,  his  earnest  friendliness  had 
reassured  her;  she  seemed  afraid  no  longer.  In  a 
way,  she  had  convinced  herself  that  he  had  been 
sorry  for  her  that  night.  Yes,  that  was  the 
foundation  of  his  tenderness,  and  as  for  her  own 
violent  emotions,  that  was  a  memory  at  which 
she  closed  her  eyes  with  a  half- feeling  of  shame. 
Delicious  it  had  been,  just  for  that  once  to  lie 
close  in  his  arms  that  were  so  strong  a  shelter. 
Just  for  once  to  give  soul  for  soul,  through  eyes 


240  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

that  were  content  to  lie  forever  under  the  sea  as 
a  penalty  for  that  sweetness  of  confession!  Yes, 
it  was  worth  all  life  she  had  ever  known.  But 
ah!  the  guilt  of  it!  That  ghost  whose  black, 
shadowy  hand  made  a  discord  that  echoed  ever 
through  the  music  of  heart-throbs!  For  the  first 
few  days,  she  had  not  been  able  to  look  at  him 
much,  when  speaking;  her  eyes  would  wander  to 
the  carpet,  or  across  the  meadow  to  the  bay.  But 
he  had  changed  all  that  with  his  manner  that  was 
so  frankly  tender,  so  earnestly  anxious  to  make 
her  forget  all  things  remorseful,  by  allowing  her 
to  believe  that  she,  herself,  had  no  serious  cause 
for  regret. 

"  A  kiss  to  a  friend — one  who  understands  you 
—and  who  will  be  proud  of  it  always?  Do  not 
feel  humiliated  because  of  that;  the  only  excuse 
for  shame  would  be  my  own  un worthiness,  try  to 
remember  that  I  feel  it  so,  and  for  my  sake — 

Ah,  yes,  the  guilt  was  past  just  as  the  storm 
was,  and  there  was  nothing  to  fear  in  this  new 
firmness  of  friendship  that  gave  them  both 
their  gladness  of  youth,  with  its  atmosphere  of 
innocence.  Does  that  understanding  of  hearts 
bring  always  its  own  lease  of  life  to  the  emotions 
— emotions  that  open  wide  their  lips  as  blossoms 
in  the  sun,  and  send  their  fragrance  heavenward? 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  a  little  afraid  of  these  days 
—of  this  new,  restful  content — they  give  me  a 
fear  of  a  rude  awakening,  they  are  too  perfect  to 
last." 

It  was  only  the  natural  fear  of  a  woman' s  hearr- 


GALEED.  241 

that  was  dazed  a  little  with  the  new  gifts  granted 
it,  and  he  smiled  at  the  fear — teasing  her  about 
those  old  superstitions  of  hers  that  he  supposed 
extended  to  presentiments. 

"Yes,  I  am  superstitious  in  some  things,"  she 
acknowledged,  ''just  little  fancies  of  my  own. 
And,  lately — well,  all  the  world  seems  changing 
for  me.  I  am  made  to  think  of  what  may  be, 
since  nothing  is  as  it  was." 

"But  it  is  better  with  you?" 

"Yes,  it  is  better;  it  will  be  better.  I  know 
that,  when  alone  again,  I  shall  never  feel  as  I  have 
felt,  and  the  'have  beens'  were  very  miserable 
sometimes.  You  have  helped  me  from  them — 
from  more  than  I  could  tell  you." 

How  full  of  the  warmth  and  promise  of  the 
summer  air  were  those  confidences,  and  how  full 
were  those  hours  of  the  grand  possibilities  life 
held  for  each!  Together  in  thought,  helpful  in 
sympathy,  pure  in  design;  those  were  the 
exchanges  that  had  grown  to  be  their  hope  for  the 
future.  Their  lives  would  be  lived  apart.  Yes, 
that  was  an  accepted  fact  they  had  never  once 
dreamed  of  combating.  But  neither  would  ever 
again  feel  alone — souls  and  sympathies  know  no 
barriers  of  space,  and  a  friendship  such  as  that 
could  bring  no  blame  to  their  eyes,  no  wrong  to 
anyone  else.  Sometimes  he  spoke  to  her,  lately, 
of  the  girl  he  was  to  marry,  and  now  she  could 
ask  about  her  as  it  was  impossible  to  do  before; 
she  was  his,  therefore  she  was  of  interest  to  his 
friend,  so  they  had  grown  to  think  of  it.  And  the 

13 


242  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

story  of  his  own  faults,  lie  told  to  her,  of  his  own 
deficiencies,  that  had  not  yet  been  able  to  lose 
him  the  liking  of  the  girl  who  had  promised  to 
be  his  wife.  He  spoke  of  her  frankness,  her 
gayness,  as  he  had  known  her  for  years. 

uOh,  yes,  Blanche  has  known  me  for  a  long 
time,  so  there  are  no  illusions  to  be  dispelled — I 
do  not  think  there  ever  were  many  on  either 
side." 

The  ground  for  this  topic  was  never  quite  safe, 
that  is,  neither  felt  quite  at  ease  on  it,  though 
they  tried  to  be  so  careful,  lest  the  other  would 
see  it,  and  yet,  simply  because  they  were  endeav- 
oring to  follow  duty,  they  mistakenly  dreamed  that 
they  were  honest. 

"  You  like  Fra  Lippo  ever  so  much  more  than 
you  used  to,  don't  you,  Judith?"  queried  Grace, 
complacently.  "  I  never  was  quite  sure,  before, 
just  how  you  were  going  to  act  with  each  other,  if 
there  was  a  party  made  up;  of  course  you  were 
always  courteous,  but  both  of  you  used  to  take 
ironical  fits  that  were  inclined  to  create  an  atmos- 
phere. I  think  it  was  you  mostly — yes,  I  do— 
you  would  demolish  some  of  his  loveliest  ideas 
with  a  glance,  or  a  little  laugh,  but  now— 

"Well — now?"  suggested  Mrs.  Winans,  teas- 
ingly.  "You  young  romancer,  what  new 
material  have  you  found?" 

"I  find  lots  in  Judith,"  announced  Grace, 
frankly;  "  I  was  reading  somewhere,  lately,  that 
artists  must  have  in  themselves  the  material  for 
every  character  they  create,  and  if  Judith  is  an 


GALEED,  243 

example,  I  believe  it.  At  first,  seeing  her  on  the 
water  alone,  I  imagined  her  a  sort  of  salt-water 
Amazon,  with  her  independence  and  her  strong 
arms.  Then,  when  I  knew  her,  she  was  so  calmly 
serene,  so  graciously  sweet;  even  in  her  irony  to 
Fra  Lippo,  she  was  beautiful — don't  listen,  if 
you  are  afraid  of  being  vain — but,  since  the  ankle 
episode,  I  have  forgotten  I  ever  thought  her  only 
beautiful.  She  is  so  lovely  now,  in  a  soft  way 
that—" 

"Thanks,  I  don't  mind  the  adjectives.  Don't 
limit  yourself,"  laughed  Judith. 

"  Well,  not  soft,"  corrected  Grace,  reflectively, 
"  but  just  lovable — yes,  you  are,  dear.  I  used  to 
admire  you  afar  off,  as  I  would  something  in  mar- 
ble; but  now,  since  you've  been  a  cripple,  you've 
changed  into  something  so  kissable  that  you're  a 
constant  temptation. ' ' 

"Grace,  I  fear  for  your  future,"  said  Mrs. 
Holmes,  looking  at  her  solemnly  over  a  book  of 
etchings;  "  for  when  you  find  that  ideal  lover  of 
yours,  that  is  to  be,  you  will  have  used  up  all  the 
pretty  speeches,  and  his  most  ardent  will  seem 
rather  second-hand  affairs  to  you." 

"Then  I  will  teach  him  to  coin  new  ones," 
answered  the  girl,  with  youth' s  assurance.  ' '  But, 
without  joking,  Judith,  you  really  are  always  a 
sort  of  'unexpected.'  Now,  being  tied  to  a  lounge 
or  a  chair  for  nearly  two  w^eeks  would  bring  out 
the  worst  side  of  any  other  person's  nature;  but 
you — well  you  just  sweeten  like  a  persimmon 
when  the  frost  comes." 


244  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

And,  during  the  laugh  at  Grace's  simile,  the 
major  came,  jolly  and  sun-burned,  with  the  budget 
of  mail  from  the  office. 

"There,  little  captain,  is  yours;  all  business 
envelopes.  Do  you  never  have  any  gossipy  let- 
ters from  your  kind,  like  other  women?  And 
there  is  yours,  Miss  Grace.  One  from  papa,  and 
one  from  Tom;  and  here,  little  woman,  is  yours, 
and  one  of  them  is  from  'papa,'  also.  This  affair 
of  chaperon  is  likely  to  be  the  occasion  of  coffee 
and  pistols  for  two.  And  there  are  Alison's. 
He  is  younger  than  I  am,  and  can  come  for  them. 
I  weigh  too  much  to  trot  upstairs;"  and  having 
delivered  himself  of  letters  and  opinions,  he  set- 
tled himself  to  read  the  Herald. 

"Oh,  Tom's  a  darling!"  burst  out  Grace,  in 
exultation.  "  Yes,  he  is,  he  has  helped  me  out 
of  such  a  scrape  with  papa,  you  know,  a  lot  of 
bother,  because  I  spent  too  much  money,  and  papa 
began  to  look  it  up  and  ask  questions,  and  then 
Tom  stepx^ed  in  and  helped  me  out.  It  was  away 
last  spring.  He  needn't  have  made  such  a  fuss 
about  it  now." 

"No,"  chimed  in  the  major,  in  a  suspiciously 
sympathetic  tone.  "Away last  spring!  where  did 
the  money  go,  Puss?" 

She  smiled  roguishly  at  him  around  the  corner 
of  his  paper. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  she  said,  confidentially, 
"because  you  know  how  it  is  yourself.  Well,  the 
most  of  it  went  to  Blanche  Athol,  at  the  Jerome 
Park  races." 


GALEED.  245 

"Urn,"  murmured  the  major,  looking  at  her 
quizzically,  as  a  big  mastiff  would  at  a  little  lap- 
dog,  "  so  you  bet  on  the  wrong  horse?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  My  betting  was  all  right,  but 
the  wrong  horse  won." 

"  Well,  you  have  a  treasure  in  a  brother  that 
helps  you  out  of  scrapes  like  that,"  said  the 
major,  "  you'd  better  stick  to  him." 

"Well,  I  rather  guess  I  will,"  answered  the 
girl,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  affection.  "  The 
dear  boy!  After  all,  men  know  best  about  every- 
thing, except  the  things  a  woman  knows  better. 
That  is  not  original,"  she  added,  as  if  averse  to 
being  credited  with  borrowed  wit. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  reflectively;  "it 
sounds  familiar;  who  was  it  said  that?  George 
Eliot,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  that  grand  woman!"  said  Mrs.  Holmes, 
looking  up  from  a  business-looking,  tyjpe-written 
letter. 

"You  admire  her  work  so  much?"  asked  the 
older  woman. 

"Yes,  thoroughly,  and  more  than  her  work — I 
admire  the  woman  herself — her  bravery  —  her 
truth." 

"  You  are  an  enthusiast." 

"Yes,  I  am — on  that  subject — what  a  great 
heart!" 

"But  not  a  model  character — not  just  one's 
idea  of  a  good  woman,  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Winans,  rather  doubtfully. 

"Not  just  one's  idea  of  most  good  women," 


246  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

assented  Mrs.  Holmes,  "because  so  many  of 
them  are  only  passively  good.  But  she!  ah,  she 
was  one  in  a  thousand!" 

"But,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Winans,  while  the 
major  dropped  his  paper  at  the  tinge  of  interest 
in  their  tones,  "but,  really,  Judith,  you  know 
that,  morally,  she  was  far  from  perfect." 

"I  know  she  was  not  orthodox  in  her  perfec- 
tions; but  they,  none  the  less,  existed  in  my  eyes, 
and  I  doubt  if  the  world's  opinion  of  her  person- 
ality touched  her  deeply.  If  so,  to  intercede  for 
her,  she  left  her  work;  it  speaks,  and  will  live  to 
speak  for  her  cleanness  of  soul." 

"But  her  life  was  such  a  contradiction,"  said 
the  little  lady.  "I  do  not  think  I  am  unchar- 
itable, but  I  can  not  see  in  her  a  type  to  admire." 

"  I  do,  for  her  bravery.  A  woman,  sensitive  as 
she  was,  must  have  required  a  strong  motive  for 
setting  herself  outside  of  the  world's  approval. 
But  the  motive,  to  her,  was  the  earnest,  lasting 
need  a  human  life  had  of  her.  I  can  think  of 
none  stronger." 

"  But,  my  dear,  that  may  be  admirable  to  you 
in  the  abstract,  because  of  her  work,  that  made 
amends  for  much.  But  think  of  it  as  an  exam- 
ple, put  yourself  in  her  place,  and  I  am  sure  you 
would  have  a  higher  code  of  morals  as  a  guide." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  it  at  all,  and  I  don't  believe 
I  should  have." 

"Easy,  easy,  little  captain!"  broke  in  the  major, 
"you'll get  yourself  in  discredit,  just  for  the  sake 
of  an  argument." 


GALEED.  247 

' '  I  don' t  think  it' s  for  the  sake  of  the  argument, ' ' 
answered  Mrs.  Holmes;  "  I  am  in  earnest,  andean 
understand  the  seriousness  with  which  she 
changed  her  life  for  him,  whether  either  Church 
or  State  approved;  what  are  Church  or  State  that 
they  should  bind  or  loose  the  affections?  One's 
own  soul  is  the  best  bondsman  for  one's  own  life. 
If  marriage  is  not  an  evil,  then  neither  is  that 
mutual  sacrifice  of  self  that  bound  those  two." 

"My  dear,  I — really,  one  would  think  you  dis- 
approved of  marriage  altogether,"  said  Mrs. 
Winans,  a  little  distressed.  She  felt  that  those 
ideas  of  Judith's  were  not  right,  yet  knew  that 
the  wrong  ideas  had  been  bred  by  that  strange, 
unfit  childhood  of  hers,  and  crowned  by  a  mistake 
of  union,  that  left  little  idea  of  sanctity  in  the 
bond.  How  could  one  combat  them,  or  condemn 
the  origin  without  blame  to  a  loved  father,  or  a 
husband  whom  she,  herself,  never  voluntarily  men- 
tioned. 

"  No,  I  do  not  disapprove  of  marriage,  and  the 
conventional  form  that  governs  it.  It  is  right  for 
those  who  want  their  vows  to  be  registered  like 
that.  But  suppose  a  marriage  like  this  one  we 
speak  of,  one  in  which  the  common  custom  could 
not  be  followed,  now  why  should  their  lives  and 
their  life-work  be  spoiled  for  lack  of  a  form 
that  surely  has  little  weight  with  God,  for,  with 
different  nations,  there  are  different  fashions  in 
giving  such  vows,  and  none  are  willing  to  say: 
'  Ours  is  the  wrong.' ' 

"Well,  it  is  lucky  most  women  do  not  think 


248  IN  LOVERS  DOMAINS. 

like  that,"   remarked  the  major,   dryly,    "else 
society  would  be  left  without  much  stability." 

"  I  doubt  whether  God  will  judge  souls  from 
their  standing  toward  society  so  much  as  from 
their  honesty  to  themselves,  and  each  other,  in 
following  the  instincts  He  gave  them  when  He  gave 
them  breath." 

"Dear  me,  Judith,"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  com- 
plainingly;  "  you  are  such  a  curious  compound. 
Just  as  Grace  said,  '  You  are  always  just  the  thing 
no  one  expects  you  to  be.'  You  are  advocating  a 
theory  that  would  shock  all  your  sense  of  refine- 
ment if  put  into  practice  by  those  near  you." 

"Am  I  so  inconsistent?"  asked  Mrs.  Holmes. 
"Ah,  well,  my  opinion  makes  no  difference  in 
the  right  or  wrong  of  it,  only  I  never  can  hear 
George  Eliot  classed  among  the  immoral  without 
feeling  antagonistic.  To  me  she  seemed  an  honest, 
brave  woman,  and  I  think  she  seemed  so  to  him." 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  and  the 
conversation  drifted  to  other  topics.  But,  inside 
the  window  of  the  parlor,  Alison's  ears  had  been 
drawn  into  listening,  carelessly  at  first,  but  at  the 
finish  there  was  a  strange  look  in  the  eyes  gazing 
so  fixedly  ahead  of  him.  A  mirror  was  opposite, 
and  in  it  he  for  an  instant  saw  himself  as  he  was, 
and  something  in  his  face  must  have  been  an 
unpleasant  revelation,  for  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"No,  by  God!" 

Whatever  the  oath  was  for,  it  did  not  tend  to 
make  him  social,  for,  without  going  to  claim  his 
letters  that  lay  just  outside  the  window,  he  picked 


GALEED.  249 

up  his  hat,  and  making  his  exit  by  the  back  door, 
struck  out  across  the  fields,  and  their  host, 
returning  from  buying  vegetables  back  in  the 
country,  brought  word  he  had  met  Mr.  Alison, 
who  said  to  tell  his  friends  he  was  going  back  to 
the  Montauk  settlement,  possibly  to  Hampton, 
and  might  not  return  until  next  day. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  regretfully. 
"  How  strange  he  did  not  mention  it  at  breakfast! 
Really,  we  have  grown  to  seem  like  a  little  family, 
and  one  absentee  breaks  the  circle." 

"  Especially  if  it  is  a  Don  Juan  who  breaks 
ladies'  bones  for  the  sake  of  carrying  them,  and 
flirts  with  another  until  her  own  husband  scarcely 
ever  gets  a  chance  to  say  even  '  How  do  you  do ' 
to  her,"  grunted  the  major,  in  mock  jealousy; 
"now  I've  got  the  three  of  you  on  my  hands. 
Miss  Grace,  you  will  have  to  exist  on  my  devotion 
until  to-morrow,  and  I'll  begin  by  beating  you  at 
poker,  five-cent  ante." 

"  You'll  have  to  trust  me  for  your  winnings 
then,"  answered  the  girl;  "but  I  do  wonder  what 
took  Fra  Lippo  away  like  that,  not  saying  a  word 
even  to  me.  Perhaps  he  has  a  dusky  Minnehaha 
back  there  for  a  sweetheart,  and  fears  my  jeal- 
ousy, "  she  hazarded,  complacently.  "  I'  11  get  the 
cards.  Come  over  here,  major,  where  the  sun 
won't  strike  us." 

But  the  one  member  of  the  party  who  thought 
most  of  his  abrupt  leave  said  nothing,  only  all  the 
day  was  long  to  her  without  the  sound  of  his 
voice. 


250  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Yet  I  feel  that  I  shall  stand 
Henceforward  in  thy  shadow.     Nevermore 
Alone  upon  the  threshold  of  my  door 
Of  individual  life. 

The  lame  ankle  was  mending,  and  the  morning 
after  the  discussion  of  George  Eliot  the  invalid 
limped  out  on  the  verandah  with  the  aid  of  the 
major's  cane,  and  avowed  her  intention  of  taking 
a  good  walk  before  she  was  a  week  older.  What 
a  glorious  morning  it  seemed  to  her!  how  the 
birds  twittered  in  the  early  sunshine!  how  the 
dew  diamonds  glittered  in  the  grass!  and  how 
sweet  those  red  roses  smelled  as  they  clambered 
over  the  wall  of  their  next  door  neighbor!  And 
through  all  the  freshness  of  the  new  day  every 
heart-beat  said:  "So  much  nearer  his  coming — 
but  a  little  while  longer  to  wait." 

It  was  friendship,  so  they  told  each  other,  but 
had  either  of  them  ever  guessed  before  how  dear 
a  thing  friendship  could  be?  Only  a  few  days 
before,  in  speaking  of  the  help  it  had  been  to  the 
work  of  each,  he  had  said:  "It  is  the  sweetest 
happiness  of  my  life."  To  be  sure  he  tried  to 
modify  it  a  little  in  a  later  speech,  and  flattered 
himself  on  doing  it  ingeniously.  But.  this  beau- 
tiful morning,  all  the  modifications  disappeared  as 
vapors  in  the  sun's  warmth.  All  the  tenderness 


GALEED.  251 

of  his  tones  came  back  to  her;  all  the  content  in 
his  eyes  as  he  had  looked  at  her.  Yes,  he  was 
only  her  friend;  their  bond  was,  they  had  told 
themselves,  one  without  selfish  ends,  without 
passion.  Theirs  should  be  an  affection  such  as 
Christ  commanded  when  He  said:  "Love  ye  one 
another."  All  that  was  dross  was  to  be  set  asi4e 
in  their  natures,  so  they  had  told  this  new  ideal 
in  visionary  fashion,  and  so  they  had  meant  and 
hoped  to  be  honest. 

But,  waiting  for  him  through  the  warmth  of  the 
June  morning,  her  want  of  him  was  very  human. 
She  watched  the  steamer  move  stately  through  the 
bay  waters,  and  could  see  away  down  the  road  the 
tourists  crossing  to  the  village  from  the  dock. 
She  watched  two  birds  pulling  at  a  great  earth 
worm,  preparing  to  carry  it,  no  doubt,  to  little  ones 
at  home.  She  tried  to  talk  to  the  others,  but 
beautiful  with  all  promise  as  the  morning  seemed 
to  her,  yet  she  did  not  feel  like  talking.  No,  if 
he  was  here  she  did  not  think  they  would  talk. 
But  she  knew  then  that  the  day,  even  in  silence, 
would  be  complete. 

At  last,  when  noon  was  close  and  he  had  not 
returned,  she  went  back  to  her  little  sitting-room. 

"I  will  see  him  just  as  soon,"  she  thought,  and 
smiled  at  the  surety  of  his  seeking  her.  Some  of 
his  late  work  she  began  to  read  over  until  he 
came.  "They  are  his  thoughts  if  not  himself,"  she 
said,  and  so  tried  to  settle  herself  to  content, 
picking  out  the  bits  for  illustration,  jotting  down 
ideas  for  the  work  she  intended  doing  for  it. 


IN  LOVERS  DOMAINS. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  step — surely  his  step — in 
the  hall  below,  then  on  the  stairs,  and  then — no, 
that  was  not  his  knock,  there  was  a  strange  ring 
to  it,  and  she  called,  "Come  in,"  wondering  who 
it  was. 

The  door  opened  and  Alison  entered,  closing  it 
behind  him,  and  looking  at  her  without  moving 
or  even  speaking. 

"I  thought  I  knew  both  your  step  and  your 
knock  by  this  time,"  she  said,  looking  up  smil- 
ingly; "but  I  never  heard  you  rap  like  that 
before." 

"No?" 

How  strange  that  entrance  and  greeting  seemed 
to  her,  after  her  dreams  of  the  morning.  Just 
that  flash  of  thought  came  to  her,  and  then — 

"  She  is  here — I — I  came  first  to  tell  you." 

"  She?"  Ah!  how  far  away  his  face  grew  as  in 
a  mist!  She  rose  to  her  feet  saying  nothing  more. 

"  Blanche.  They  wrote  yesterday,  but  I  missed 
the  word  by  leaving."  There  was  silence  for  a 
little,  then  he  said:  "I — I  do  not  know  what  to 
say  to  you." 

How  strange  his  face  looked  to  her,  and  how 
white,  but  his  words  roused  her. 

"There  is  nothing  to  say,"  she  answered,  and 
her  voice,  very  low  as  it  was,  seemed  to  be  as 
strange  as  his  face.  "It  is  sudden,  and — and  that 
is  all." 

His  gaze  disturbed  her  as  much  as  the  sudden- 
ness of  his  announcement.  He  looked  at  her  so 
steadily,  as  if  all  his  heart  was  in  his  eyes.  The 


GALEED.  253 

cloak  of  friendship  was  gone  from  his  manner; 
but  what  was  this  sprite  that  had  taken  its 
place? 

"  They  are  coming — here  from  the  hotel  to  see 
—the  others;  will  you  come  down?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  tried 
to  speak  naturally.  "  I — I — " 

"My  friend." 

He  took  a  step  nearer,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  her  as  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  calmly,  "  I  will  come  down.  I 
am  glad  you  came  to  tell  me;  but — but  please 
go  away  now." 

And  loosening  her  hand,  she  turned  from  him, 
heard  him  touch  the  handle  of  the  door,  and  then 
in  another  instant  he  had  crossed  the  room,  and 
his  arms  were  about  her,  his  head  bent  so  low,  so 
closely  above  her  face. 

"Try  to  forgive,"  he  whispered;  but  the  sen- 
tence, whatever  it  was  intended  to  be,  had  its 
finale  drowned  by  the  closeness  of  his  mouth 
against  her  cheek. 

She  did  not  speak,  did  not  even  try  to  look  at 
him.  One  hand  she  raised  to  his  as  if  to  loosen  its 
clasp  about  her,  but  the  hand  was  as  unruly  as 
her  heart,  and  was  held  so  fondly  that  it  left  her 
helpless. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet  way,  still 
not  moving,  still  holding  her  close:  "I  have  not 
been  honest  as  we  hoped  to  be.  Yesterday,  I 
knew  it.  That  is  why  I  left.  I  came  back  to 
tell  you  the  truth  and  go  away.  But  now — " 


254  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

All  the  contingencies  to  be  met  and  battled 
with,  all  the  double  life  to  be  lived  under  her 
eyes  left  his  speech  a  broken  fragment. 

"I  understand,"  she  answered.  "You  can  not 
leave  now  that — they  have  come."  She  heard  him 
breathe,  in  a  half  whisper,  a  low,  sweet  title  of 
tenderness,  and  it  helped  her  to  add:  "  Do  not  be 
afraid  for  me,  I  will  be — strong.  I  mean  you 
shall  see  how  hard  I  will  try  to  be — your  friend." 

"My  friend,"  he  echoed,  as  if  in  half -mockery 
of  himself.  "Ah,  dear!  my  dear,  if  I  could  only 
be  more  worthy!" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Be  it  my  wrong,  you  are  from  me  exempt; 

But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 

COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 

"  You  are  not  at  all  what  I  expected  to  see  from 
Dale's  letters,"  said  Miss  Athol,  bluntly,  two 
days  later,  when,  at  a  lunch  arranged  by  Mrs. 
Winans,  the  new-comers  were  entertained  in  an 
impromptu,  charming  fashion.  The  major,  Alison, 
and  a  little  nephew  of  Blanche's  had  adjourned 
to  the  porch,  and  the  ladies  were  left  chatting 
over  the  strawberries  and  cake,  and  the  tea  that 
was  served  in  Russian  fashion. 

"It  is  delicious,"  said  Blanche,  sipping  hers 
slowly.  "But  the  taste  of  it  is  always  associated 
in  my  mind  with  dead  men  under  the  snow,  and 


GALEED.  256 

sombre  Jewish  faces  with  sad  eyes,  because  I  first 
drank  it  so  at  Verestchagin's  exhibition  last 
fall." 

"Those  pictures  must  have  been  a  great  treat," 
said  Mrs.  Holmes.  "  I  was  South,  so  did  not  get 
to  see  them,  much  to  my  own  regret." 

"Nellie  raved  over  them,"  said  Blanche,  desig- 
nating her  sister,  Mrs.  Julian,  who,  as  Grace  had 
said,  was  trying  to  act  as  chaperon  to  this  speci- 
men of  contemporaneous  girlhood. 

"  I  should  imagine  they  deserved  it,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Holmes,  trying  so  hard  to  be  interested  in 
this  girl  who  was  to  be  his  wife,  and  only  ending 
by  a  wonder  as  to  what  her  charm  had  been  for 
him.  For,  dashy,  beautifully  dressed,  and 
assertive,  she  had  in  her  long  brown  eyes  and  her 
tousled  blonde  head  a  magnetism  that  did  not 
communicate  itself  to  her  own  sex. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  in  answer  to 
Mrs.  Holmes.  "They  were,  of  course,  if  one 
wants  to  go  into  the  realistic  order  of  the  artistic 
craze.  Nellie  does,  you  know.  She  would  have 
pictures  on  her  walls  if  she  didn't  have  clothes  to 
wear.  But,  for  my  part,  those  Russian  things 
made  me  tired.  I  mean  the  big,  weighty  things. 
Why,  they  make  one  feel  so  insignificant." 

"  I  told  her  it  was  because  they  had  more  soul 
in  one  of  their  painted  faces  than  she  had  in  her 
whole  body,"  remarked  Mrs.  Julian,  with  sisterly 
frankness. 

"Well,  perhaps,"  assented  Blanche,  indiffer- 
ently. "  Only  I  did  not  see  much  to  rave  about, 


250  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

since,  in  the  whole  collection,  there  was  not  a 
single  face  of  a  pretty  woman." 

"Are  you  so  in  love  with  pretty  women?"  asked 
Grace.  This  was  a  subject  interesting  to  herself, 
all  her  romantic  heroines  forming  extraordinary 
attractions  in  that  line. 

"  I  don't  know  about  being  in  love  with  them," 
answered  Blanche,  coolly,  her  eyes  glancing 
across  her  cup  at  Mrs.  Holmes'  clear-cut,  softly- 
curved  profile.  "  But  I  do  like  to  look  at  them— 
in  pictures." 

"I  like  to  look  at  the  originals,"  announced 
Grace,  with  a  malignant  frown  at  the  red,  smiling 
mouth  and  the  brown  eyes.  She  alone  had  seen 
the  glance  that  accompanied  Blanche's  speech, 
and,  like  a  loyal  champion,  was  ready  for  battle 
—perhaps  incited  thereto  by  the  memory  of 
sundry  lost  dollars  which  Blanche  had  pocketed 
with  that  same  sort  of  equivocal  smile. 

And  then,  from  a  discussion  on  faces  in  general, 
and  women's  faces  in  particular,  had  arisen  that 
remark  of  Blanche's.  "No,  you  are  not  at  all  as  I 
expected  to  see  you  from  Dale's  letters." 

"No?"  and  she  tried  to  speak  carelessly.  "I 
did  not  imagine  myself  of  sufficient  interest  for 
description." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  were — to  him,"  said  Blanche, 
frankly.  "He  used  to  talk  of  you  a  great  deal 
when  you  made  those  first  illustrations — he  was 
so  charmed  with  your  ideas  and  conception  of  the 
characters." 

"  I  am  very  glad;  it  was  a  pleasure  to  do  the 


GALEED.  257 

work,"  she  answered,  and  wondered,  as  she  spoke, 
how  she  could  sit  still  and  hear  this  girl's  cool 
discussion  of  his  thoughts  and  her  personality. 

"  It  was  lovely  work.  I  do  not  wonder  he  was 
so  pleased,"  said  Mrs.  Julian.  "I  doubt  if  he 
could  have  found  anyone  to  carry  out  his  ideas  as 
you  did,  Mrs.  Holmes.  We  thought  it  wonderful, 
as  you  had  no  personal  knowledge  of  each  other." 

"Yes,"  went  on  Blanche;  "Nellie  and  Dale 
both  raved  about  them,  until  Mrs.  Holmes  seemed 
a  member  of  the  family.  But,  gradually,  Dale 
dropped  out  of  the  craze,  that  is,  he  kept  quiet  in 
his  wondering  as  to  who  you  were  and  what  you 
were  like.  Perhaps,"  and  she  laughed  a  little, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Holmes  curiously,  "perhaps 
because  I  teased  him." 

"Blanche!"  said  Mrs.  Julian,  with  a  look  of 
irritation;  but  the  woman  discussed  only  glanced 
up  calmly,  her  brows  raised  ever  so  slightly. 

"What  is  it,  Nellie?"  asked  Blanche,  inno- 
cently, in  an  exasperatingly -unconscious  manner, 
and  then  she  turned  again  to  Mrs.  Holmes.  ' '  I  am 
always  saying  something  she  disapproves  of;  she 
will  tell  me,  when  she  gets  me  home,  that  I  show 
bad  taste.  But,  you  see,  I  did  tease  him  about 
Mrs.  Holmes — it  wasn't  you,  you  know — only 
the  name.  But  he  had  puzzled  so  over  your  per- 
sonality, until,  if  we  were  out  together — he  and  I 
— I  was  always  picking  out  the  most  grotesque 
creatures  I  could  see,  and  calling  them  Mrs. 
Holmes,  and  prophesying  that  if  he  ever  met  you 
he  would  find  you  looked  like  some  of  them." 

17 


258  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"Grotesque!"  said  Grace,  so  indignantly  that 
the  rest  could  not  help  laughing  at  her  energy, 
as  she  crossed  to  her  paragon' s  chair,  and  leaned 
over  the  bronze  head  lovingly.  "Well,  if  you  want 
to  find  anything  grotesque,  Blanche  Athol,  you 
don't  want  to  come  to  this  end  of  the  table." 

"Grace!"  said  Mrs.  Winans,  in  a  softer  copy  of 
Mrs.  Julian's  tone.  Evidently,  from  the  aggressive 
attitude  of  Grace,  the  two  chaperons  were  likely 
to  have  trouble  with  their  charges. 

"Oh,  you  little  goose!"  said  Blanche,  laughing 
until  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes;  "don't  be  silly. 
I  am  sure  I  beg  Mrs.  Holmes'  pardon,  now  that  I 
know  her;  but  none  of  us  knew  her  then,  so  I  was 
not  treading  on  anyone's  sensibilities — I  don't 
dare  say  corns,  for  Nellie's  looking.  And  do 
you  know,  Mrs.  Holmes,  when  Dale  wrote  me  he 
had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  you,  he  wouldn't 
write  me  a  line  as  to  how  you  looked,  or  whether 
my  prophecies  were  correct,  or  anything;  wasn't 
that  revengeful?" 

"It  was  just  right,"  said  Grace,  promptly. 

"  And,"  continued  Blanche,  "when  I  asked  him 
by  letter,  he  said  all  sorts  of  lovely  things  about 
your  character  and  your  goodness.  But  I  fully 
expected  to  find  a  motherly,  matronly  soul,  with  a 
semi-religious  turn  of  mind — the  sort  that  keeps 
tracts  on  their  tables  instead  of  the  latest  maga- 
zines. So,  as  I  said,  you  were  an  agreeable  sur- 
prise to  me." 

"Did  you  say  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Holmes  in  her 
clearest,  coolest  tones.  "I  did  not  hear  you." 


GALEED.  259 

And  then  she  turned  to  Grace,  laughingly  protest- 
ing against  that  young  gormand  having  another 
dish  of  berries.  And  Blanche  Athol,  watching  her 
lovely  face  with  a  half-attraction,  half-antago- 
nism, felt  herself  courteously  cut. 

"  Who  is  she,  anyway?"  she  asked,  supercili- 
ously, of  her  fiance,  as  he  walked  home  with  her 
to  their  hotel.  "  One  would  think  her  a  princess 
incognito  from  that  air  she  has." 

"I  am  sorry  you  feel  so,"  he  answered;  "  I  wish 
you  could  know  her  better;  she  is  a  woman  in  a 
thousand." 

"Yes,  no  doubt,"  said  Blanche,  ironically; 
"  but  a  woman  in  a  thousand  may  mean  anything. 
What  particular  part  of  the  thousand  does  she 
belong  to?" 

"I  think  we  had  better  not  discuss  Mrs. 
Holmes,  since  you  take  that  tone,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "I  have  too  high  a  regard  for  her 
friendship  to  hear  her  misunderstood." 

"Yes?"  and  she  glanced  up  at  him  with  those 
long  brown  eyes  that  were  so  worldly-wise, 
despite  the  girlish  chatter.  She  was  rather 
inclined  to  be  antagonistic  that  evening,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  subject  in  hand  was.  She  had  come 
to  the  quiet  little  place  against  her  will.  It  had 
been  Nellie's  doings,  for  which  Blanche  knew 
that  Nellie  had  reasons,  and  she  felt  in  her  bones 
that  she  would  tell  Dale  what  the  reasons  were, 
and  she  was  not  sure  how  Dale  would  take  them. 
To  be  sure,  he  had  always  been  carelessly  good- 
natured  with  any  of  her  larkings  in  the  past — of 


260  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

which  there  had  been  several.  She  thought  of 
that  as  they  walked  across  the  meadow  to  the 
village  street,  and  stealing  a  questioning  glance 
at  his  set  mouth  and  his  sombre  eyes,  she  won- 
dered if,  after  all,  he  might  be  rather  hard  to 
manage,  despite  his  quiet  acceptance  of  the  past. 

"To  be  sure,  he  hadn't  much  but  the  shelter  of 
glass  houses  himself,  in  those  first  days,"  she  rea- 
soned, reflectively,  "  and,  consequently,  could  not 
afford  to  spout  the  lesser  order  of  things;  but  since 
he  has  been  so  painfully  correct  that  his  best 
friends  wouldn't  know  him — well,  there's  no 
knowing  what  sort  of  a  crank  he  may  develop 
into."  And  then,  remembering  his  tone  in  speak- 
ing of  this  new  acquaintance  that  they  all  seemed 
to  bow  to,  she  felt  an  impish  desire  to  tease  him, 
beside  harrowing  her  own  awakened  curiosity. 
She  felt  that  she  was  likely  to  have  a  scene  with 
him  and  Nellie  before  leaving  the  miserable  little 
place,  anyway,  and  with  the  reckless  willingness 
to  be  hung  for  a  sheep,  instead  of  a  lamb,  she 
remarked: 

"I  see  you  haven't  been  wasting  any  time 
down  here,  from  Mrs.  Winans'  thrilling  account 
of  your  late  adventure.  A  sprained  ankle  is  such 
an  interesting  foundation  for  the  dignified  order 
of  high-class  friendships;  a  rather  new  style  of 
thing  for  you,  isn't  it?" 

That  one  cool  glance,  and  the  one  cool  speech 
from  Mrs.  Holmes  had  irritated  her  more  than  a 
woman  usually  could,  and  added  to  it  Mr.  Ali- 
son's words  of  regard  that  made  her  resentful. 


GALEED.  261 

She  was  furious  at  being  snubbed  for  this  clear- 
eyed  woman,  as  she  had  been  by  both  her  sister 
and  her  fiance.  And  he,  looking  at  her  as  she 
spoke,  wondered  how  he  had  ever  been  amused 
by  this  sulky  little  creature,  or  how  he  had  found 
her  free  speech  and  her  air  of  bonhomie  so 
charming. 

"I  do  not  feel  in  the  mood  for  jests  over  what 
might  have  been  a  serious  affair  to  a  friend,"  he 
said,  in  a  cold,  terse  sort  of  way  that  told  her  of 
repressed  anger.  "As  to  my  own  style  of  friends 
in  the  past,  the  fact  of  changing  them  should,  I 
think,  receive  a  different  reception  from  you.  A 
weeding  out  of  our  past  companionships  would 
not  be  detrimental  to  either  of  us." 

"I  wonder  what  he  means  by  that?"  she 
thought;  but  aloud  she  said:  "Speak  for  your- 
self, please;  do  you  want  to  begin  with  me?" 

They  had  reached  the  hotel  by  this  time,  and  at 
the  steps  he  paused. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  not  come  in  this  even- 
ing," he  said,  quietly;  "to-morrow  you  may  be  in 
a  more  tractable  mood." 

"Yes,  I  am  likely  to  be,"  she  said,  ironically; 
"  neglect  is  so  apt  to  have  a  soothing  effect  on  the 
temper." 

"I have  not  knowingly  neglected  you  at  any 
time,"  he  answered,  decidedly,  and  stood  doubt- 
fully leaning  against  the  porch  railing.  He  felt 
guilty  of  much,  but  knew  that  this  was  only  a  pet- 
tish accusation  raised  as  an  excuse  for  much  that 
was  in  bad  taste.  But  the  fault  to  her,  of  which 


262  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

he  had  been  guilty,  made  him  more  patient  than 
he  could  otherwise  have  been,  feeling,  as  he  did, 
that  he  must  do  what  he  could  to  make  amends. 
She  tapped  her  foot  impatiently  on  the  painted 
floor  of  the  hotel  porch. 

"  You  were  not  at  all  glad  to  see  me,"  she  said 
at  last,  in  a  disputive  way. 

"As  much  so  as  you  were  to  come,  I  believe," 
he  answered,  "that  is,  if  one  can  trust  little 
pitchers  with  big  ears,"  referring  to  her  little 
nephew,  Howard  Julian. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  intend  to  listen  to  a 
child's  chatter,"  she  began,  in  a  lofty  tone  of  dis- 
dain. He  looked  at  her  as  if  waiting  for  the  fin- 
ished sentence,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  more 
of  it. 

"  See  here,  Blanche,"  he  said,  in  a  conciliatory 
way;  "it  is  very  foolish  to  build  up  imaginary 
grievances  of  this  sort.  If  you  had  let  our  mar- 
riage take  place  in  the  spring,  as  I  asked  you, 
there  would  have  been  no  cause  for  this  misunder- 
standing, for  we  should  not  have  been  sepa- 
rated." 

But  for  some  reason  the  marriage  was  not  a 
thing  Blanche  cared  to  discuss. 

"That  is  no  reason  why  you  can't  come  in  the 
parlor  now,"  she  answered,  in  a  skirmishing  fash- 
ion, fighting  shy  of  the  main  line. 

"Certainly  not,"  he  agreed;  "but  try  to  be  a 
little  more  like  yourself,  Blanche;  something  has 
changed  you  this  summer." 

But  he  followed  her  into  the  parlor,  when,  after 


GALEED.  263 

a  short  chat  with  herself  and  sister,  he  left,  and 
walked  out,  out  under  the  stars,  a  long  way  ere 
he  thought  of  returning  for  rest  or  sleep. 

After  he  had  gone,  Blanche  turned  to  her  sister. 

"Have  you  told  Dale  anything?"  she  asked, 
abruptly. 

"  Anything?"  in  a  non-commital  way. 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean;  any  of  that  non- 
sensical idea  you  got  in  your  head  about — 

"Was  it  so  nonsensical?"  asked  the  older 
woman,  keenly. 

"  Did  you  tell  him?"  was  all  Blanche  said. 

"No,  I  didn't,  but  I  will,"  answered  Mrs.  Jul- 
ian, looking  at  her  squarely;  "that  is,  if  you 
don't  either  break  your  engagement,  or  behave 
more  as  you  know  he  would  like  you." 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  trouble  yourself  about 
his  wishes,  when  he  hides  himself  out  in  those 
world-forgotten  places,  instead  of  coming  where 
we  were  for  the  summer." 

"You  don't  remember,  then,  your  own  deter- 
mination for  going  to  the  other  side  this  summer. 
Dale  has  work  to  do,  and  laid  his  plans  accord- 
ingly. Try  to  have  some  consideration." 

"  Oh,  dear!"  said  the  girl,  in  a  tired  way.  "  I  do 
wish  you  would  all  let  me  alone.  Why  would  you 
persist  in  stopping  here?  Just  to  frighten  me,  I 
suppose.  If  you  would  only  have  let  me  be,  and 
not  nagged  so  at  me,  I  never  would  have  hunted 
up  someone  else  for  pastime,  and  now — "  She 
stopped  rather  unsteadily,  and  after  a  little  Nellie 
crossed  over  to  her. 


264  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"Blanclie,  are  you  crying?"  she  asked,  in  slow 
surprise.  Blanche  as  a  Niobe  was  rather  a  rarity 
to  her  relatives. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  she  retorted,  rebelliously. 
"  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  Dale  Alison,  since  I  am 
to  be  made  miserable  through  him.  I  will  go 
where  I  want  to,  where  I  won' t  see  any  of  you, 
if — if  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on." 

"What  sort  of  thing?"  asked  Nellie,  coolly, 
not  much  affected  by  this  emotional  tendency, 
because  she  felt  that  its  origin  was,  for  the  most 
part,  temper.  But  Blanche  made  no  reply,  and 
after  a  little  her  sister  continued: 

"I  stopped  here  to  give  you  a  chance  to  see 
him,  and  because  Ned,  as  your  guardian,  insisted 
on  us  coming  this  way.  He  likes  Dale,  and  will 
not  have  him  trifled  with  by  you.  And  if  it  is 
done  in  the  future,  he  says  decidedly  that  Dale 
shall  not  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  it,  and  that  I 
shall  not  chaperon  you.  Now,  there  is  the  whole 
affair." 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
Blanche  arose  and  stood  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow into  the  gathering  darkness. 

"  So  your  lord  and  master  has  laid  down  his 
rules  for  me,  has  he?"  she  queried,  ironically, 
with  her  back  to  Mrs.  Julian;  "and  this  is  my 
last  chance.  Well,  you  can  tell  him  for  me  that 
I  may  not  need  a  chaperon  a  great  while." 

"  You  mean  you  are  going  to  marry  Dale  this 
summer,  after  all?" 

"  I  don1 1  know,  I'm  sure.   By  the  time  Ned  and 


GALEED.  265 

you  get  through  with  your  messages  of  me,  he 
may  not  do  me  the  honor  to  want  me.  Good- 
night." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

And  to  most  of  us  ere  we  go  down  to  the  grave, 
Life,  relenting,  accords  the  good  gift  we  would  have; 
But  as  though  by  some  strange  imperfection  in  fate, 
The  good  gift,  when  it  comes,  comes  a  moment  too  late. 

MEREDITH. 

"And  so  we  are  going  to  Northport,"  said 
Grace  to  Mrs.  Julian.  "  Judith's  foot  is  so  much 
better,  she  is  sure  she  can  make  the  journey  all 
right.  You  see  we  can  go  all  the  way  by  steamer. " 

"  And  do  you  all  move  whenever  Mrs.  Holmes 
makes  it  her  pleasure  to  do  so?" 

It  was  Blanche  who  asked  this,  and  who  in 
some  way  had  failed  to  make  any  closer  acquaint- 
ance with  the  subject  of  their  discourse. 

"  No,  we  do  not,  though  we  would  all  be  glad 
to,"  said  Grace,  stoutly;  "we  always  intended 
going  there.  I  am  to  go  because  the  Winans  are 
going,  and  papa  left  me  in  their  care  for  six  weeks 
yet.  And  Judith  says  she  has  still  a  month  to 
put  in  at  some  of  the  nooks  on  the  island,  so  she 
goes  with  us.  Poor  dear,  we  would  have  gone 
before  this,  but  for  her  accident." 

"  And  we  are  going  to-morrow,"  said  Howard, 
gleefully ; ' '  and  back  to  Ocean  Grove.  I'  m  awfully 
glad;  only  I  wish  Dale  would  come,  too,  instead  of 


266  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

staying  here  and  hunting  up  things  about  Indians 
that's  nearly  all  dead.  I  like  him  better  than— 

"There,  there,  never  mind  about  your  prefer- 
ences," broke  in  Blanche,  "but  take  that  ball 
and  your  fishing-tackle  out  on  the  porch." 

"  So  you  are  going — so  soon?"  said  Alison,  when 
the  major  had  told  him  of  their  plans. 

"Why  not  say,  'so  late'?"  Mrs.  Holmes 
returned,  smiling  rather  dubiously,  but  not  look- 
ing at  him.  Their  exchange  of  glances  or  words 
had  been  few  under  this  new  order  of  comrade- 
ship that  had  superseded  the  old.  It  was  not  easy 
for  them  to  talk  commonplaces,  knowing,  as  they 
did,  the  state  of  each  other's  mind. 

"Have  the  days  been  so  hard  to  you?"  he 
asked,  in  answer  to  her  words.  "  How  have  you 
been  living  them?" 

"  Trying  to  think  a  little,  and  finding  myself  a 
failure,  I  fear." 

"Come,  sit  down  here,"  he  said,  drawing  a 
chair  up  to  the  window  of  her  sitting-room, 
where  he  had  gone  to  see  her  on  hearing  she  was 
to  leave.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  something,  and  am 
not  sure  how  you  will  think  of  me  for  it,  but — 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  have  very  ill  thoughts  of 
you  at  any  time,"  she  answered.  "What  is  it?" 

"Have  you  ever  thought — do  you  ever  think  of 
getting  a  divorce?" 

All  question  of  her  marriage  had  been  avoided 
always  between  them.  There  never  had  been  any 
word  of  the  cause  that  had  left  her  life  so  alone, 
and  remembering  the  conversation  that  day  on 


GALEED.  267 

the  sands  when  he  had  first  heard  her  story,  he 
could  easily  understand  how  it  would  be  unpleas- 
ant to  speak  of.  But  now— 

It  seemed  as  if  they  sat  there  a  longtime  before 
she  said:  "  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  it.  My  Mends 
have  spoken  to  me  of  it.  I  do  not  think  I  will 
ever  be  divorced." 

"Some  time  you  may  want  more  freedom. 
What  then?" 

' '  Why  do  you  ask  now?' '  she  said,  closing  her 
eyes  in  a  tired  way.  "  It  does  not  matter.  Noth- 
ing matters  much." 

"Don't  speak  like  that,"  he  said,  gently. 
"Everything  matters  to  me  that  concerns  you. 
You  know  that.  And  now,  when  you  are  going 
away — well,  is  it  so  strange  that  I  should  think  of 
the  future?" 

4 '  The  lack  of  a  divorce  will  make  no  difference 
with  my  future,"  she  said,  dropping  her  eyes 
under  his  gaze.  "I  will  always  be  alone — just 
the  same." 

"And  he?" 

"  He  never  wants  to  re-marry — thinking  it  was 
bad  enough  to  make  the  mistake  once.  He  would 
—would  take  care  of  me  still  if  I  would  allow  it. 
And  so  you  can  see  I  could  make  no  application 
for  divorce  without  doing  so  on  grounds  that — I 
can't  speak  of  it  to  you.  Don't  ask  me!" 

She  rose  and  stood  by  the  window,  her  face 
turned  slightly  from  him.  But  he  could  see  she 
was  much  agitated.  He  reached  out  his  hand 
and  clasped  hers  earnestly.  There  was  nothing 


268  IN   LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

lie  could  say  to  her,  knowing  that  there  must  be 
memories  of  heart -sickness  into  which  no  one 
could  bring  words  of  comfort.  After  a  little  she 
turned  round. 

"  What  makes  you  have  such  faith  in  me?" 
she  asked,  abruptly,  half  cynically.  "How  do 
you  know  it  is  not  I  who  am  in  the  wrong — not 
he?  You  may  be  taking  me  too  much  at  my  own 
valuation.  You  should  not  be  too  credulous." 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  such  things  of  me," 
he  said,  clasping  her  hand  a  little  closer,  and 
feeling  the  unwilling  fingers  tremble  in  his 
own. 

"  He  had  no  faith,"  she  said,  after  a  little;  "  he 
never  believed  in  me,  not  in  any  woman,  and 
through  that  life  I  grew  to  lose  faith  for  so  long 
that  I  wonder  sometimes  at  you.  You  seem  so 
steadfast." 

"  You  lifted  me  into  faith,  into  much  that  will 
do  me  good  so  long  as  I  live,"  he  answered. 
"  You  can  not  imagine  that  I  shall  forget." 

"  Will  you  not  forget?"  she  asked,  turning  to 
him,  suddenly.  "  Are  you  so  sure  you  will  never 
forget?" 

"I  am  so  sure." 

"That  is  good  to  think,"  she  said,  smiling  down 
at  him  rather  uncertainly.  "It  is  selfish  to  ask 
you  to  be  unfaithful  to  someone  else.  I  never 
really  would  want  to  think  you  unfaithful  to  any- 
thing that  seemed  to  you  duty — only — only,  I 
would  like  to  think  that  the  memory  of  this  sum- 
mer's friendship  will  always  be  pleasant  to  you, 


GALEED.  269 

and  helpful,  as  much  so  as  I  am  sure  it  will  be  to 
me;  that  will  not  be  a  wrong  to  your — to  your 
duties  of  life;  surely,  not  when  we  say  good-bye 
and  go  away  as  we  are  to  do." 

"You  speak  always  of  guarding  my  duties," 
he  said,  suddenly,  ' '  what  of  your  own?" 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"  You  mean  to  the  man  I  married?"  she  asked. 
He  had  never  once  heard  her  say,  "  my  husband." 

"Yes." 

"I  have  none,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "Oh! 
don't  look  at  me  like  that!  I  can't  tell  you  why; 
but  I  never  feel  that  I  have  any  duties  to  him. 
He  knows  it.  I  have  told  him  he  must  never 
expect  them  again,  and  he  does  not." 

"  My  poor  friend!  You  must  have  had  much 
unhappiness  before  you  could  come  to  such  a 
decision." 

"  I  had,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  touched  with 
tears  at  his  tenderness  of  manner,  and  then  with 
a  sudden  change  that  was  half -grotesque — "  So 
had  he;  you  don't  ever  seem  to  think  how  misera- 
ble the  poor  man  must  have  been." 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  talk  like  that,"  he  said, 
jumping  up  and  laying  his  hand  heavily  on  her 
shoulder,  "and  stop  laughing.  I  can' t  stand  every- 
thing; I  can't  have  you  speak  in  that  mockery  of 
what  has,  I  can  see,  been  misery.  I  know  how 
close  that  sort  of  mockery  comes  to  reckless- 
ness." 

The  nervous  laughter  broke  into  a  half-sob  as 
she  dropped  her  head  low  on  her  shoulder  where 


270  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

his  hand  lay,  and  pressing  her  cheek  against  it, 
she  said,  in  a  tremulous  way  that  seemed  akin  to 
contrition: 

"  Yes,  you  know,  I  told  you  that  day  how  much 
I  was  afraid  of — of  growing  reckless  again,  afraid 
to  trust  myself.  They  have  always  thought  me 
so  cold  and  so  strong.  You  alone  know  how 
much  I  have  needed  help.  Ah!  why  did  you  ever 
come  to  me?  or— 

"  Or,  why  must  I  ever  go  away?'5  he  said,  finish- 
ing the  question  that  had  filled  both  their  hearts 
for  so  many  days;  and  then,  in  a  quiet,  dispassion- 
ate sort  of  way,  he  added,  "  Sometimes  I  have  felt 
like  saying  that  I  will  not." 

"  Don't!"  she  said,  aroused  suddenly  to  all  the 
meaning  in  those  words.  "Don't  ever  say  that. 
It  is  bad  enough  for  me  to  be  weak  sometimes. 
You  must  try  to  be  strong  for  us  both." 

She  looked  at  him  so  helplessly,  so  appealingly, 
that  his  hand  slipped  from  her  shoulder  down 
along  the  round,  full  arm  to  her  fingers,  which 
he  raised  to  his  lips. 

"  You  are  asking  a  hard  thing  of  a  man  when 
you  ask  one  to  guard  you  from  himself,"  he  said, 
earnestly,  "and  I  wonder  sometimes  if  I  am 
equal  to  it." 

She  tried  to  draw  her  fingers  away,  but  his  own 
closed  over  them  too  closely. 

"No,"  he  said,  between  his  shut  teeth,  half 
lovingly,  half  grimly.  "No,  you  can't  go  until  I 
release  you.  Shall  I,  or  shall  I  not?  Ah!  you 
beautiful  thing!" 


GALEED.  271 

"  It  is  not  because  of  that,"  she  began,  and  he 
answered: 

"  No,  it  is  not  because  of  that.  But  a  man  can 
not  but  see  if  he  has  eyes."  After  a  little,  his 
clasp  relaxed,  and  when  he  spoke  again,  it  was  in 
a  different  tone.  Each  felt  instinctively  that  his 
change  of  theme  and  manner  was  a  step  retraced 
from  a  cliff  over  which  they  had  glanced,  and 
that  had  left  them  a  little  dizzy. 

"You  are  going  to-morrow?"  he  asked,  and 
she  answered,  "Yes,  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

On  the  northern  shore  of  the  island  lies  the 
village  of  Northport,  where  the  waters  of  the 
Sound  kiss  with  cool  lips  the  wooded  bits  that 
cluster  so  close  to  the  pebbles.  Its  two  streets, 
one  along  the  shore,  and  the  other  straight  back 
from  the  water,  in  the  narrow  valley  between  the 
hills,  are  rather  gay  in  the  summer  time,  the 
strays  from  the  city  wandering  along  the  shores 
and  through  the  woods  in  search  of  vitality 
absorbed  through  the  winter  by  the  cobble  stones 
and  furnace-heat. 

The  post-office  is  the  rendezvous  for  all  those 
aliens,  and  Grace  was  one  of  the  habituals — she 
and  the  major  generally  belonging  to  the  crowd 
that  loafed  around  the  door,  or  on  the  hotel 
porch,  a  few  steps  awa}',  until  the  mail  was  sur- 


272  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

rendered  by  the  "bus"  driver,  and  sorted  by  the 
official  who  has  double  work  through  the  summer 
season. 

Grace,  for  all  her  vein  of  the  romantic,  had  a 
most  prosaic  longing  for  the  matter-of-fact  chron- 
icles of  the  daily  press.  One  of  the  New  Yorkiest 
of  girls,  she  was  always  eager  for  news  of  lives 
lived  to  the  clang  of  the  streets,  and  under  the 
glimmer  of  gas-jets. 

And  the  major  was  one  of  the  men  who  always 
read  the  political  articles  first,  yet  never  went  to 
the  polls;  so  he  and  Grace  were  the  newspaper 
fiends  of  their  little  party,  that  had,  since  their 
last  move,  dwindled  down  to  a  quartette.  They 
went  for  the  mail  together,  and  stumbled  back 
along  the  little  street,  sometimes  reading  as  they 
went. 

"It's  all  we  have  to  enliven  us  since  we  left 
Fra  Lippo,"  complained  Grace,  when  laughed  at 
by  the  other  ladies  for  her  newsy  appetite. 
"Yes,  it  is.  Mrs.  Winans  acknowledges  she  is 
disconsolate  without  his  charming  attentions — he 
is  a  lonely  man,  Judith — oh,  I  know  you  are  too 
independent  ever  to  need  anyone,  or  let  yourself 
miss  them  much.  But  I  know  if  it  had  been  me 
he  had  carried  in  his  arms,  and  been  so  anxious 
over,  I — well  I  would  do  him  the  honor  to  regret 
him,  at  any  rate." 

"I  am  sure  I  do  regret  him;  he  is  a  very 
charming  gentleman,  a  very  pleasant  compan- 
ion." 

"  Oh,  yes!  but  you  say  that  so  carelessly.    You 


GALEED.  273 

are  lovely,  Judith,  but  in  many  ways  you  are  so 
cool — as  if  nothing  impressed  you  very  deeply.'' 

"What  would  you  have  me?"  asked  Mrs. 
Holmes,  smilingly.  ' '  What  you  call  a  gusher?' ' 

"Just  imagine  Judith  that,  can  you,  Mrs. 
Winans?  No;  but  I  know  Fra  Lippo  was  sorry 
to  have  us  leave;  awfully  sorry;  and  when  he 
went  to  leave  the  boat  you  didn't  seem  to  notice 
how  lonesome  he  looked,  and  I  thought  at  the 
time  that  your  '  Good-bye,  Mr.  Alison,  I  hope  to 
hear  your  Indian  article  will  be  a  success,' 
sounded  to  me  just  as  you  would  say  'Good- 
night, Mr.  Alison,  I  hope  to  hear  at  breakfast 
that  you  rested  well.'  Yes,  it  did;  it  was  just  as 
careless  as  that." 

"Oh  Grace,  Grace!"  laughed  Mrs.  Winans; 
"  you  are  always  putting  your  friends  in  need  of 
an  imaginary  champion  that  you  may  have  a 
chance  to  fill  the  role.  I  never  thought  of  his 
being  lonesome;  I  was  selfishly  thinking  of  our- 
selves; but  he — I'm  sure  he  had  his  sweetheart 
there  for  another  day,  and  that  would  console 
him." 

"Would  it?"  asked  the  girl,  grimly,  with  a 
knowing  look.  "Well,  if  I  wanted  consolation 
for  anything  I  wouldn't  hunt  up  Blanche  Athol 
as  high  priestess." 

"Perhaps  not,"  remarked  Mrs.  Holmes;  "for 
I  don't  think  you  are  fond  of  each  other;  but  you 
see  it  is  different  with  them  since  they  are  to  be 
married." 

"Are  they?"    queried  the  girl,  in  that  same 
is 


274  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

ambiguous  way.  "Well,  Blanche  can  be  awfully 
swell  if  she  wants  to,  and  awfully  *  taking '  with 
men.  But  she  seemed  to  have  left  all  sweetness 
somewhere  else  this  trip.  She  was  just  as  aggra- 
vating as  she  could  be  to  Nellie,  and  to  Fra 
Lippo,  too.  I  would  like  to  have  seen  him  lose 
his  temper  and  box  her  ears  the  day  we  went 
yachting." 

"  If  he  had,  you  would  have  missed  a  piece  of 
wedding-cake,"  smiled  Mrs.  Winans.  "Think 
of  that!" 

"I  wouldn't  care;  I'd  have  gone  without  wed- 
ding-cake for  the  rest  of  my  natural  life." 

"That's  a  sweeping  statement!"  said  Mrs. 
Holmes.  "  What  about  your  own?  Would  you 
forego  that  for  the  sake  of  seeing  Miss  Athol's 
ears  boxed?' ' 

"  Oh,  Grace  is  a  little  schemer,"  said  the  major, 
slyly.  "Don't  you  see  the  method  in  the  mad 
desire?  Boxed  ears  mean  broken  engagement- 
free  Fra  Lippo — sympathizing  little  girl  who 
catches  a  heart  in  the  rebound — and  then — well,  a 
prospect  of  wedding-cake  galore,  and  a  musical  - 
literary  partnership.  How  is  that  for  a  plot,  eh?" 

Grace  only  put  out  her  lips  at  him  and  looked 
her  scorn. 

"I  think  he  was  wonderfully  patient  with  her, 
anyway,"  she  persisted. 

"  He  understands,  perhaps,  that  betrothal  is  a 
sort  of  novitiate  course,"  said  Mrs.  Winans. 
"  Husbands  require  much  patience." 

"Well,   I'm    sure  yours   doesn't,"   contested 


GALEED.  275 

Grace,  whose  best  arguments  had  always  personal 
application. 

"Oh  ho!  don't  I,  though?"  queried  the  major, 
lugubriously,  behind  his  paper.  "Listen  to  the 
innocent." 

"  The  strain  on  your  patience  has  no  bad  effect 
on  your  avoirdupois,  at  all  events,"  retorted  the 
girl,  and  after  a  little,  apropos  of  nothing — "I 
think  someone  else  is  ahead  of  me  in  my  scheme 
for  that  dissolution,  from  things  little  Howard 
was  observing  enough  to  note." 

One  of  her  listeners  grew  hot  and  cold  in  an 
instant  at  that  significant  speech.  What  did  it 
mean?  Had  she  been  so  blind  as  to  show  even  to 
children  the  miseries  she  had  thought  so  well 
hidden? 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  squarely, 
forgetting  to  be  guarded,  forgetting  all  in  her 
desire  to  know  just  what  that  statement  meant. 

"  I  mean  Dick  Haverly,"  said  Grace,  slowly 
and  impressively.  "Oh,  it's  earnest;  he  and 
Blanche  flirted  until  Nellie  and  Mr.  Julian  were 
furious  over  it.  So  Nellie  took  Blanche  away 
from  Ocean  Grove  until  they  heard  Dick  had 
gone,  and  then  Howard  said  they  were  going 
back." 

"Rather  risky  authority,  let  us  hope,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Holmes.  "From  what  I  saw  of 
little  Howard  he  would  not  be  a  fair  judge  where 
Miss  Athol  was  concerned,  as  they  were  always  at 
swords'  points." 

"Yes,  and  I  rather  think  Miss  Athol  has  just 


276  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

enough  perversity  to  tease  her  sister  by  a  flirta- 
tion, even  if  it  was  not  a  particularly  interesting 
one  in  other  respects,"  said  Mrs.  Winans. 

"Not  a  comfortable  trait  in  a  man's  wife," 
added  the  major.  "She  is  a  dashy,  sharp  little 
thing,  and  I  suppose  Alison  knows  what  he  wants, 
but  his  friends  had  better  say  prayers  for  the  rest 
of  his  soul  on  his  wedding  day." 

And  thus  she  had  to  hear  him  discussed  day 
after  day,  and  give  no  sign  of  the  pain  that 
choked  her  sometimes,  of  the  longing  that  drew 
all  her  thoughts  back  to  the  old  town  on  the  bay, 
where  they  had  walked  together  over  the  same 
pebbly  shores,  where  every  nook  in  the  bends 
of  the  harbor  was  recorded,  not  by  shape  or 
shadow,  but  by  some  little  word  that  was  sug- 
gestive, by  a  quick  glance  of  sympathy,  or  the 
eager  reaching  of  a  hand  to  help  her.  Ah,  the 
sweetness  and  the  misery  of  it  all! 

She  did  not  hear  from  him.  Each  knew  at  the 
last — when  it  came  to  their  parting — that  it  must 
be  absolute,  that  there  could  never  again  be  any 
pretense  of  platonic  friendship  between  them. 
The  struggle  it  had  been  to  separate  at  all  told 
them  that. 

With  the  conflicting  emotions  of  woman,  she 
honored  him  for  his  truth — though  so  late — to  his 
engagement  and  that  girl.  At  the  same  time 
all  her  heart  was  filled  with  hot,  rebellious 
blood  at  the  thought  that  he  had,  no  doubt, 
gone  with  her  back  into  the  whirl  of  summer 
pleasures. 


GALEED.  277 

She  tortured  herself  with  a  wonder  as  to  what 
his  thoughts  were  of  this  wife  of  another  man — 
the  wife  who  had  given  her  kisses  to  him  and 
who  had  helped  him  to  be  faithless.  Could  he 
see  more  clearly  the  vileness  in  her  now  that  she 
could  not  act  to  him  sweet  lies?  Did  he  turn 
gratefully  to  the  frank  creature  who  was  to  be  his 
wife,  and  in  the  companionship  that  was  right 
did  he  try  to  forget  a  mad  dream  that  had  led  them 
to  the  feet  of  guilt? 

She  could  close  her  eyes  and  seem  to  hear  the 
tensity  in  his  tones  as  he  said,  "Darling!"  to 
feel  the  loving  tenderness  with  which  he  drew  his 
wife  close  and  kissed  her  fondly — kisses  tender 
and  sweet,  no  doubt,  and  unmoved  by  that  half 
blindness  of  passion  that  had  tinged  his  kisses  to 
herself.  Yes,  she  could  see  it  all,  and  the  sight 
sickened  her. 

What  need  to  imagine  a  Heaven  or  Hell  when 
God  gave  to  humanity — Love?  It  has  in  it  the 
heights  and  the  depths  of  each. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Ask  me  no  more;  thy  fate  and  mine  are  sealed, 
I  strove  against  the  stream,  and  all  in  vain, 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main. 

TENNYSON. 

The  evening  mail  was  just  in,  and  Grace,  who 
had  got  ahead  of  the  major,  carried  to  the  cottage, 
down  by  the  shore  road,  the  budget  of  letters  and 
papers.  And  impulsive  as  her  manner  usually 


278  IN  LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

was,  they  were  yet  unprepared  for  her  entrance 
that  warm  summer  evening. 

"Dear  me,  Grace,"  called  Mrs.  Winans,  before 
the  girl  got  to  the  gate,  "don't  run  like  that  this 
warm  evening.  It  is  really  exhausting  to  watch 
you." 

"Guess  what's  happened!"  she  panted,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair  and  holding  an  open  letter  in 
her  hand.  "Don't  ever  say  I  am  not  a  prophet, 
guess — guess!" 

"Stop  it!"  grumbled  the  major.  "Give  me 
my  papers,  and  then  prophesy  to  your  heart's 
content." 

"  There  they  are — you  newspaper  gormand," 
she  said,  throwing  him  the  packages,  "but  I'll 
wager  none  of  you  read  much  when  I  tell  you  the 
news." 

"Well,  well,  tell  it  and  ease  your  mind!" 
advised  the  old  lady,  smilingly.  What  great 
event  has  happened?  Have  you  a  step-mamma? 
or  is  Tom  married?" 

"No,  but  some  one  else  is,  just  as  I  said  they 
would  be — Blanche  Athol." 

"Blanche  Athol!"  echoed  Mrs.  Winans,  and 
the  major  really  did  drop  his  paper  at  the  news 
with  an  emphatic  "By  George."  But  the  other 
woman  standing  in  the  doorway  only  leaned 
heavily  on  the  oars  she  held,  and  shut  her  eyes 
with  a  bitter  little  smile  at  the  thought  of  his 
haste.  Could  he  not  have  waited,  at  least  until 
she  had  time  to  get  away  from  the  people  who 
knew  them  both? 


GALEED.  279 

"  No  wonder  you  ran,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak 
carelessly,  "a  wedding  is  always  a  thing  of 
interest,  especially  to  one's  friends;  send  to  them 
for  your  piece  of  wedding-cake,  my  dear.  I  am 
going  for  a  little  exercise — good-bye." 

And  settling  the  oars  on  her  shoulder,  she 
walked  down  the  steps  and  into  the  little  boat 
awaiting  her  at  the  landing,  at  the  edge  of  the 
garden. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anyone  quite  like  Judith?" 
said  Grace,  complainingly.  "I  wonder  what 
news  one  could  ever  bring  her  that  would  interest 
her?  Why,  she  don't  seem  to  care  at  all,  and 
such  good  friends  as  she  and  Fra  Lippo  were! 
Well,  I'd  think  she  would  care  a  little  on  his 
account." 

"Did  she  write  you?    How  did  you  hear?" 

"No,  indeed,  the  letter  is  from  Tom,  just  a 
few  lines.  But  it  all  turned  out  just  as  I 
expected,"  she  reiterated,  triumphantly. 

' '  Very  likely, ' '  remarked  Mrs.  Winans.  ' '  But, 
so  far,  you  have  not  given  us  a  particle  of  infor- 
mation, except  one  bare  statement;  now  what  were 
your  expectations?  or  what  news  does  Tom  send? 
Since  you  have  begun,  please  tell  us  all  about  it." 

And  Grace,  plunging  into  her  discourse,  forgot 
the  exit  of  Mrs.  Holmes,  and  chatting  on  until 
after  sundown  they  scarcely  noticed  that  she  was 
staying  out  a  good  while.  It  was  nothing  unusual 
for  her,  however,  to  stay  out  on  the  water,  until 
after  dark,  if  she  felt  like  it.  They  were  used  to 
missing  her  in  the  evenings. 


280  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

But  the  three  on  the  porch,  chatting  in  the 
gloaming,  stopped  suddenly  as  a  form  coming  up 
the  village  street  neared  their  gate. 

"  It  is — surely,  it  is  Fra  Lippo,"  said  Grace,  in 
a  half  whisper. 

"That's  who  it  is,"  said  the  major,  rising  and 
laying  down  his  paper. 

"Don't  let  us  say  anything  about  Tom's  letter 
unless  he  speaks,"  suggested  Grace,  and  Mrs. 
Winans  nodded  assent. 

The  next  instant  the  major  was  shaking  hands 
with  Alison,  and  Mrs.  Winans  and  Grace  were 
bidding  him  welcome. 

"Why  did  you  not  write  us  you  were  coming?" 
asked  Grace;  "we  would  have  met  you  at  the 
depot." 

"I  drove  across  the  country  from  Bay  Shore," 
he  answered,  "and did  not  know  I  was  coming  in 
time  to  write  you.  I  am  staying  at  the  hotel  here, 
but  go  on  to  New  York  in  the  morning." 

No  one  mentioned  the  marriage  to  him,  and 
Grace,  in  her  romantic  fashion,  wondered  how  he 
could  possibly  be  so  cool  and  collected,  and  talk 
of  everything  except  the  one  subject  that  must  be 
uppermost  in  his  mind. 

After  a  little,  he  asked  for  Mrs.  Holmes.  Was 
she  still  with  them?  Was  her  ankle  quite  recov- 
ered? He  wanted  to  see  her  before  starting  for 
New  York,  as  he  was  to  interview  a  publisher  in 
regard  to  illustrations  she  was  to  make.  He  was 
to  leave  early  in  the  morning  and  wanted  to  see 
her  to-night. 


GALEED.  281 

"  Then  I  guess  you  will  have  to  take  a  boat  and 
go  after  her,"  said  the  major.  "  Little  captain  is 
such  a  water-rat  that  she'll  stay  out  for  hours,  if 
she  feels  in  the  humor." 

"Which  direction  did  she  go?"  he  asked,  ris- 
ing to  his  feet.  "It  is  still  light  enough  to  see 
quite  a  distance  on  water,  I  may  find  her." 

"She  went  down  that  way,  out  toward  the 
Sound,"  said  Grace;  "for  if  she  had  gone  up  I 
should  have  seen  her  from  the  porch.  Come,  I'll 
go  to  the  boat-house  with  you." 

A  boat  was  soon  secured.  Grace  looked  at  him, 
intending,  in  thoughtless  fashion,  to  go  with  him 
to  look  for  Judith,  but  something  strange  in  his 
face  made  her  step  back. 

"Really,  he  didn't  seem  to  know  I  was 
there,"  she  thought,  in  amazement,  for  he  had 
always  been  so  kind,  so  considerate  of  her.  But 
she  gave  him  a  smiling  good-bye  and  walked 
slowly  up  the  steps  to  the  house,  wondering  if, 
after  all,  Fra  Lippo  was  not  troubled  more  than 
she  had  thought  at  first. 

A  weird,  steely  light  lay  over  the  water,  and 
the  bits  of  coast  in  the  gloaming  were  merely 
clear-cut,  black  outlines  that  looked  like  an 
exquisite  etching,  with,  across  the  still  water,  just 
one  pale  path  of  rose,  thrown  as  a  last  tribute 
from  the  vanished  sun.  The  air  was  warm  and 
still,  not  a  movement  to  break  the  sweet  peace  of 
the  evening,  and  away  down  around  the  bend  of 
the  shore,  where  the  cliff  rises  up,  could  be  seen 
one  boat  drifting  idly  out  from  shore. 


282  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

Once  in  a  while  the  occupant  would  give  the 
oar  a  few  dips  and  right  the  little  craft,  sending 
it  in  toward  the  beach.  It  did  not  matter  much 
where  she  drifted,  she  thought,  in  a  numb  sort  of 
way.  A  something  heavy  and  dead  seemed  set- 
tling over  her  life,  just  as  the  gray  cloak  of  night 
was  blotting  all  the  sweetness  and  warm  colors  of 
the  day. 

She  had  known  it  would  come,  of  course,  this 
news  Grace  had  brought,  and  which  she  could 
not  stay  to  hear  discussed.  But  that  it  should  be 
so  soon  had  not  occurred  to  her. 

"  Could  he  not  wait  until  the  echo  of  his  whis- 
pers to  me  were  deadf '  she  asked  herself,  bitterly, 
and  then,  with  a  burst  of  shivering,  sobbing 
misery:  "But  they  never  will  be!  never!  all  the 
days!  all  the  nights!  oh  God!" 

An  oar  slipped  out  of  place  and  drifted  away 
slowly.  The  boat,  unguarded,  moved  further  and 
further  from  the  beach.  And  huddled  down  there 
in  a  heap,  with  her  head  resting  on  the  seat,  lay 
the  little  captain — blind,  deaf  to  all  but  those 
echoes  of  the  past,  that  were  struggling,  fighting 
for  possession  of  her  heart. 

A  very  weak  heart,  the  "uncoguid"  may  think. 
A  wicked  heart  to  cling  so  to  memories  that  were 
guilty.  Yes,  it  was  all  that.  It  was  very  human. 

That  other  boat,  moving  closer  over  the  still 
waters,  gave  no  warning  to  her  ears,  and  Alison, 
seeing  the  drifting  boat  and  the  huddled  form, 
thought  she  had  fallen  asleep  there  in  the  warmth 
and  rest  of  the  falling  night. 


GALEED.  283 

Silently,  silently,  lie  moved  toward  her  that  she 
might  not  waken;  so  close  now  that  he  could  see 
the  curved,  white  neck  on  which  the  hair  rested; 
one  more  silent,  sure  dip  of  the  oar  and  the  boats 
almost  touch.  That  movement  of  the  waters 
aroused  her,  she  supposed  she  had  drifted  into 
some  of  the  set  nets  of  the  fishermen,  and  raising 
her  eyes  in  a  questioning  way,  met  those  of  Ali- 
son's, shining  with  a  great  gladness. 

"Judith!"  and  he  reached  out  his  hand,  and 
even  in  that  gesture  showing  his  want  of  her. 

But  she  only  stared  at  him — scarcely  a  light  of 
recognition  in  her  eyes — they  had  been  so  dim 
with  tears,  now  they  were  dazed  as  if  by  a  doubt 
of  his  actuality.  Everything  on  the  stretch  of 
water  had  a  weird,  steely  glint  over  the  grayness. 
In  the  dusk  only  his  eyes  looked  warm  and  alive. 
Was  he  only  a  creation  of  a  longing  imagination? 

"Judith!" 

Ah,  how  could  she  mistake  that  tenderness  for 
anything  but  his  own  voice?  It  was  he.  Yes, 
but— 

"You  should  not  have  come,"  she  said,  in 
a  deprecating  way,  trying  to  force  back  her 
own  thankfulness.  "You  must  not  come  again, 
ever." 

"  Must  I  not?"  and  she  felt  herself  jarred  on  by 
that  lightness  of  voice,  that  utter  joyousness  of 
manner.  Where  was  the  realization  of  this  sick- 
ening change  that  had  parted  them?  Could  this 
be  the  man  whose  delicacy  of  feeling  had  first 
touched  her  through  his  work?  And  he  could 


284  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

come  from  the  kisses  of  his  bride  to  her!  and 
come  like  that!  She  closed  her  eyes  with  a  great 
wave  of  shame  flushing  her  cheeks,  though  she 
could  not  have  told  whether  it  was  for  him  or  for 
herself. 

He  looked  at  her,  smiling  at  her  still,  with  that 
manner  she  could  not  understand.  He  could  see 
the  traces  of  tears  in  the  eyes  that  had  grown 
hollow  and  tired-looking  in  the  three  weeks  since 
he  had  seen  her. 

"My  friend,"  and  he  clasped  her  hand  tenderly, 
"these  days  have  not  been  bright  ones  to  you 
either,  have  they?" 

She  shook  her  head.  It  did  not  seem  easy  to 
speak,  she  was  too  much  afraid  she  would  cry 
again,  and  the  sobs  were  still  trembling  in  her 
throat,  making  her  voice  uncertain. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said,  dropping  his  face  against 
her  hand.  "Do  you  imagine  there  was  an  hour 
that  I  did  not  think  of  your  loneliness,  your  good- 
ness in  helping  me  to  do  what  we  thought  was 
right?  And  lam  glad  of  it  now,  dear — so  glad; 
because  now  you  will  not  torture  yourself  with 
regrets  on  my  account,  as  I  know  you  would  have 
done." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  shook  off  the  silence 
which  his  strange  manner  had  given  her. 

"Have  you  no  soul  that  tells  you  what  you  are 
doing  when  you  come  to  me  and  speak  to  me  like 
this — now<"  she  asked,  as  steadily  as  she  could. 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"Why  not  now,  if  ever?"  he  returned,  doubt- 


GALEED.  285 

fully,  "  unless — unless  it  is  because  of  your  own 
bonds.  I  will  do  nothing,  say  nothing  to  influ- 
ence you  against  them  at  any  time,  if  you  care  to 
regard  them.  Only,  after  what  has  been,  how 
could  I  help  coming  first  to  you?  And  I  thought 
— she — my  dear,  I  felt  so  sure  you  would  be 
glad." 

She  laughed  in  a  shivering  way  at  that. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  ironically,  "I  wonder  that 
you  did  not  bring  your  wife  out  here  to  share 
your  gladness.  Did  you  leave  her  with  Grace 
and  Mrs.  Winans?  If  so,  we — we  had  better  go 
back." 

In  a  moment  he  had  drawn  her  close  in  his  arms 
with  a  happy  laugh. 

"Ah!  Judith,  Judith!"  he  cried,  joyously. 
"What  is  it  you  have  been  thinking  of?  My 
wife!  she  is  in  my  arms.  Can  you  not  understand 
that?  Yes,  even  though  you  send  me  away;  even  if 
I  never  see  you  again,  you  are  my  wife,  the  only 
one  I  shall  ever  have;  dear,  don't  you  know? 
don't  you  know?" 

She  threw  back  her  head  out  of  the  reach  of  his 
lips. 

"But,  Miss  Athol;  they  said — " 

"  Miss  Athol  is  Miss  Athol  no  more,"  he  smiled; 
"  she  has  been  for  forty-eight  hours  Mrs.  Haverly. 
Now  Judith,  you  rebel,  where  are  your  congratu- 
lations?" 

Their  unheeded  boats  were  idly  drifting  side  by 
side,  linked  close  by  the  arms  of  those  two  people. 
After  that  war  of  protest  against  him,  against  her- 


286  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

self,  she  turned  her  face  downward  on  his  arm 
and  lay  there  passively,  as  if  she  had  been  wait- 
ing for  that  shelter,  that  rest.  There  were  no 
words  of  explanation.  What  did  it  matter  now 
of  that  other,  or  how  she  had  fallen  so  readily 
into  the  idea  that  it  was  Alison's  marriage  Grace 
spoke  of?  That  was  all  of  the  past,  and  their 
present  had  brought  them  to  each  other — that  was 
enough. 

"  And  you  really  came  first  to  me — for  my  con- 
gratulations?" she  said,  with  her  face  still  turned 
against  his  sleeve,  and  a  note  of  gladness,  falter- 
ing through  her  tones,  instead  of  the  sobs.  "  You 
really  came  first  to  see  me?" 

"Really,  and  really,"  he  smiled,  in  answer; 
"and  you  are  glad  with  me,  are  you  not?  I 
heard  it  last  night,  but  was  not  certain  enough  to 
come  to  you.  Put  your  arm  up  here — so,  while 
I  tell  you  how  long  the  night  seemed." 

"Did  you  want  to  come  to  me — so  much?" 
Another  weakness  of  the  heart  human,  to  cease  its 
beats  that  it  may  hear  ever}T  intonation  in  the 
voice  of  love.  "  And  did  the  night  seem  long?" 

"Did  it?  I  can  not  find  words  to  tell  you  of  it 
now.  I  am  too  content  only  to  be  here.  But  do 
you  remember  the  evening  when  we  heard  the 
first  whip-poor-will  of  the  season?  That  dream 
of  a  night!  and  how  happy  we  were  in  our  resolu- 
tions to  be  earnest,  helpful  friends;  and  how 
bright  the  moon  was,  and  how  sweet  those  roses 
smelt?  You  were  only  Psyche  to  me  that  night, 
a  thing  of  soul.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  sweetest 


GALEED.  287 

of  silences  we  heard  the  call  of  that  wood-bird. 
Do  you  remember?" 

4 'How  could  I  forget?" 

"Well,  last  night,  while  wakeful,  I  heard  the 
call  of  the  whip-poor-will  again,  so  clearly,  so 
closely,  it  brought  back  to  me  that  night  when 
you  were  with  me.  I  remembered  you  told  me 
there  was  some  superstition  about  the  bird's  call, 
though  you  would  not  say  what  it  was,  and  last 
night  I  lay  there  wondering  about  it,  fancying  it 
must  be  some  lover's  legend  that  you  feared  to  tell 
me,  lest  the  subject  drift  us  into  channels  we  had 
agreed  to  avoid.  And  so,  with  vague  fancies  of 
the  night-bird,  and  sweeter  ones  of  you,  I  lay 
wakeful,  waiting  for  morning,  and  hoping  I  could 
come  to  you." 

All  barriers  of  the  spirit  melted  away  as  she 
heard  the  familiar  voice,  bringing  back  to  her 
some  of  the  poems  of  feeling  they  had  lived 
through. 

She  raised  her  head,  looking  over  his  shoulder, 
toward  the  north,  where  the  last  remaining  lights 
were  centered  in  bars  of  bluish  steel.  The  water 
had  slowly  darkened,  and  only  a  few  stars  shone 
through  the  warm  night. 

"  We  must  go  back,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  we  must  go  back;"  but  their  fingers 
closed  over  each  other  a  little  tighter  as  they 
spoke,  and  then  for  the  first  time  she  missed  the 
oar. 

"  Never  mind,  I  will  get  you  one  instead  in  the 
morning,"  he  said,  peering  into  the  shadows, 


288  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

but  not  seeing  it.  "We  can  not  look  for  it  now, 
we  can  not  afford  to  lose  the  time."  And  there 
was  just  light  enough  left  to  see  the  smile  and  the 
love  in  each  other's  eyes. 

"Come,  get  into  my  boat,"  he  suggested;  "  we 
can  tie  yours  to  the  stern." 

But  for  some  perverse  whim  she  refused. 

"No,  tie  them  together  at  the  row-locks,  just 
as  they  are,"  she  answered,  "and  then  each  can 
row  his  own  boat." 

He  protested  against  such  an  innovation  in 
seamanship,  but  taking  a  ribbon  from  her  hair 
she,  with  his  aid,  fastened  them  tightly  together. 

"  That  is  much  better,"  she  said,  complacently. 
"Now  see  how  evenly  we  can  pull  on  with  this 
arrangement." 

"  It  is  abominable,"  he  grumbled;  "I  shall  not 
be  able  to  see  your  face." 

"You  know  I  am  close  beside  you,  anyway." 

"  Yes,  for  this  one  evening." 

"I  am  grateful  for  even  that,"  she  said,  softly. 
"I  have  been  torturing  myself  so  with  the 
thought  of  my  own  faults,  and  the  certainty  that 
you  would  see  them  so  much  plainer  when  we 
were  parted.  And  then,  I  could  fancy  you  class- 
ing me  among  women  who — ah,  my  friend,  words 
seem  weak  affairs.  But  the  thought  that  I  am 
wrong,  that  you  so  gladly  came  to  me  at  once — 
well,  only  a  woman  who  has  been  what  I  have  been 
can  know  what  content  you  have  brought  me." 

He  leaned  over,  clasping  her  arm  with  his  dis- 
engaged hand. 


GALEED.  289 

"  Those  doubts  of  my  earnestness  must  never 
come  to  you  again;  they  are  unjust." 

"I  believe  you  just  now,"  she  said,  honestly; 
"  but  I  am  never  sure  how  long  I  could  continue 
to  do  so." 

Their  boats,  tied  so  close,  moved  on  over  the 
dark  waters,  propelled  by  an  oar  in  the  hand  of 
each.  It  was  slow  locomotion,  but  the  night  was 
one  neither  of  them  was  in  haste  to  leave  behind. 

"Where  does  that  light  in  the  water  come 
from?"  she  asked,  curiously.  "There  is  none 
left  in  the  sky." 

Every  dip  of  the  oar  brought  a  flash  of  faint, 
white  fire  against  the  blade,  and  sent  little  coils 
of  light  drifting  astern. 

"  It  is  phosphorescent  light, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  It 
is  on  these  still,  warm  nights  that  it  shows  bright- 
est. Have  you  never  seen  it  here?" 

"I  have  never  been  along  here  so  late  before. 
Ah,  look! — there  a  great  ball  of  fire  went  past. 
How  lovely,  and  how — how  weird  it  makes  all 
this  darkness  seem." 

"That  fire  that  passed  was  a  fish,"  he  said, 
smiling  at  her  enthusiasm,  as  her  oar  was  for- 
gotten, and  her  hand  thrust  down  again,  and 
again,  to  see  the  tiny  sparks  glimmer  back  from 
her  fingers.  "  In  the  shadow  of  that  cliff  ahead, 
it  will  show  brightly,  no  doubt.  It  always  does 
in  the  deepest  darkness." 

"Come,  then,  let  us  hurry,"  she  said,  picking 
up  the  oar  eagerly.  "Oh,  this  beautiful  night  you 
have  brought  me!" 

19 


290  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

"  You  have  not  repaid  me  well  for  it  then,"  he 
answered,  quietly,  "since  you  acknowledge  how 
little  your  faith  in  me  is." 

"Ah,  bless  you!"  she  burst  out,  with  just  a 
ring  of  her  mother's  race  sounding  through  the 
caress  of  her  tones.  "Don't  think  that — it  is  not 
you — it  is  myself  that  am  lacking.  My  doubt  as 
to  whether  a  woman  like  me  could  keep  the 
regard  of  a  man  who  knew  her  as  you  have 
known — 

"  Why  will  you  persist  in  speaking  of  yourself 
like  that?"  he  demanded.  "  Woman  like  you!  One 
would  think,  the  way  you  say  that,  that  you  were 
the  most  guilty  of  women.  What  crimes  have  you 
committed?' ' 

"I  should  be  judged  as  guilty,  socially,"  and 
he  could  see  in  the  dimness  that  her  head  bent 
lower;  "  that  is,  if  the  world  knew  as — as  you 
know— 

"As  I  know!"  he  said,  repeating  again  her 
words.  "I  know  nothing  but  that  you  have  been 
very  unhappy,  and  now  are  very  unfortunate  in 
caring  for  a  man  you  can't  trust." 

The  words  sounded  a  little  bitter,  he  felt  so. 
Inwardly  he  was  scarcely  able  to  trust  himself. 
But  just  then  it  seemed  a  little  hard  to  have  some 
one  else  look  over  his  shoulder  into  the  mirror  of 
his  conscience. 

"I  do  not  doubt  your  desire  or  your  intention 
always  to  think  highly  of  me,"  she  answered,  in 
a  debating  way.  "  You  will  if  you  can.  I  believe 
that.  But  I  can  not  see  how  you  can  help  chang- 


GALEED.  291 

ing  your  thoughts  of  me  from  what  they  used  to 
be.  I  have  dreaded  that  you  would,  and  know 
that  if  you  do,  it  will  be  just  as  it  was  when  we 
cared  for  each  other — it  would  be  because  you 
could  not  help  it." 

"Ah,  you  woman!  you  woman!"  he  breathed, 
half  chidingly.  "Why  will  you  torture  yourself 
with  visionary  fancies  of  what  may  be,  when  the 
beauty  of  what  is  lies  so  close  to  us?" 

"  I  do  not  know;  perhaps  it  is  simply  because 
I  am  a  woman  that  those  fears  magnify  them- 
selves so,  and  have  been  real  enough  to  make  me 
heartsick  sometimes." 

"Because  you  are  sorry?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  how  can  I  define  it?  To 
say  that  I  am  sorry  would  mean  to  wish  that  we 
had  never  cared  for  each  other — and  I — oh,  how 
can  I  ever  say  that?  I  never  shall,  you  know  I 
never  shall!" 

Her  hands  let  the  oar  go  and  covered  her  face 
as  if  to  hide  from  him,  from  even  the  darkness, 
the  complexity  of  emotions  that  prompted  that 
outcry.  He  reached  across  her  and  drew  the  oar 
into  his  own  boat,  sending  a  shower  of  silver 
flashing  across  the  night  as  he  did  so.  They  were 
close  to  the  beach  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliff — 
above  them,  about  them,  all  darkness.  Below 
them,  millions  of  sparks  floating  upward.  He 
could  see  her  bent  figure  and  lowered  face, 
and  a  deep,  broken  breath  told  him  she  was 
crying. 

A  moment  he  sat  silent,  looking  at  her  moodily, 


292  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

and  the  next  instant  he  had  drawn  the  yielding, 
shivering  form  into  his  embrace. 

Was  there  any  word  spoken,  anything  but  that 
determined  air  of  possession?  Neither  heard  it 
if  there  were?  Her  sobs  grew  still,  silenced  by  a 
mute  depth  of  storm  beside  which  her  tears  were 
as  summer  showers. 

"And  yet  you  send  me  from  you,"  he  whis- 
pered, after  a  silence  fraught  with  more  expression 
than  any  words  could  convey.  "You,  knowing 
all,  knowing  me,  knowing  yourself — ah,  how  can 
you!" 

She  loosened  his  arms,  drawing  away  from  the 
reach  of  his  hands. 

"  It  is  because  I  do  know  you,"  she  said,  hur- 
riedly, passionately;  "  and  do  know  myself  that 
I  know  this  dream  of  happiness  would  prove  a 
lie.  Ah,  I  can  see!  the  regret,  the  shame,  and 
perhaps  the  avoidance  of  me!  That  would  kill 
me,  I  think." 

She  was  huddled  down  in  the  boat  much  as 
when  he  had  found  her  and  thought  her  sleeping. 
Her  words  and  the  despair  in  her  voice  filled  him 
with  a  sweeping  desire  to  give  all  his  life,  all  his 
devotion  to  the  disproving  of  that  picture. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  brokenly,  "I  know 
that  no  matter  what  evil  a  man's  own  life  may 
have  seen  and  known,  I  know  how  high  an  opinion 
he  always  has  of  a  woman  he  thinks  good." 

"And  that  is  why  I  shall  always  have  so  high 
an  opinion  of  you,"  he  answered,  earnestly. 
"Because  I  know  you — know  you  so  well." 


6ALEED.  293 

His  hand  that  was  resting  on  her  shoulder 
slipped  about  the  woman's  throat,  thrilling  with 
that  magnetism  of  touch,  and  drawing  her  face 
toward  him. 

"Dear,"  he  whispered,  "why  are  you  so  true 
to  everything  but  yourself  and  me?" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"Mail  for  Judith?"  asked  Mrs.  Winans;  "  well, 
do  it  up  in  a  parcel.  She  said  we  were  to  forward 
it  all  together  to  that  publishing  place  in  New 
York.  Can  you  remember  the  address,  major?" 

"  Yes;  got  it  here  in  a  note-book." 

"It  does  seem  such  a  contradiction  of  one's 
ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things,"  said  his  wife,  com- 
plainingly,  evidently  carrying  out  aloud  some 
unexpressed  thoughts — a  habit  about  which  Grace 
and  the  major  teased  her  often.  And  now  he 
looked  at  her  quizzically  over  his  glasses. 

"As  your  statement  stands,  it  does  not  carry 
much  idea  of  your  subject  to  your  audience," 
he  remarked,  dryly.  "What  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"  Why— I  told  you— of  Judith,"  said  his  wife, 
a  little  impatient  at  his  density.  "It  does  seem 
too  bad  that  a  woman  of  her  tastes  and  her 
charming  character— a  woman  who  would  grace  a 
domestic  home  life — should  live  as  she  does  the 


294  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

greater  part  of  the  year,  her  nearest  thing  to  a 
permanent  address  being  a  business  firm." 

"It  is  time  she  wrote  us,"  said  Grace,  looking 
up  from  the  little  package  of  letters  and  papers. 
"  It  is  three  weeks  since  she  left,  and  only  one  ]  i  t- 
tle  note  to  say  she  was  to  leave  New  York  and  go 
South  to  do  sketches  and  write  up  some  special 
localities  this  coining  winter.  The  South — that' s 
definite!" 

"Oh  don't  growl  already,"  advised  the  major; 
"  Judith  has  little  time  for  gossipy  letters  such  as 
most  women  expect.  Last  winter  we  heard  from 
her  very  seldom;  but  she  generally  makes  it  up 
by  spending  a  little  of  the  summer  where  we  are." 

1  'Yes,  and  what  a  lovely  time  we  had — Fra 
Lippo,  and  Judith,  and  all  of  us!  Oh,  dear,  how 
I  have  missed  him." 

"He's  much  more  a  will-o'-the-wisp  than 
Judith,"  said  Mrs.  Winans;  "that  is,  I  suppose 
so  from  Miss  Athol's  statement." 

"I  don't  wonder  he  was  where  she  was  con- 
cerned," said  Grace,  spitefully;  "I  never  will 
forgive  her  for  acting  so  shabbily  to  him — never!" 

"Don't  distress  yourself  on  his  account," 
advised  the  major;  "I  don't  think  he  was  very 
hard  hit." 

"Now,  don't  be  so  sure  of  that,"  nodded 
Grace,  with  an  air  of  profound  knowledge.  "I 
thought  so,  too,  until  that  evening  when  he  came 
here.  And  when  I  went  down  for  the  boat  with 
him  he  looked — well,  I  just  made  up  my  mind  he 
was  all  broke  up;  and  when  he  bade  us  good-bye 


GALEED.  295 

the  next  morning,  and  said  lie  didn't  quite  know 
whether  he  would  put  in  the  fall  at  the  poles  or  in 
the  tropics,  well,  I  was  sure  of  it  then." 

"Of  course  you  were,  you  young  romancer," 
laughed  Mrs.  Winans;  "  you  will  insist  that  your 
Fra  Lippo  is  a  victim  of  misplaced  affection,  just 
to  keep  him  from  being  prosaic  and  common- 
place." 

"  He  never  could  be  that"  said  Grace,  loyal  to 
her  original  impressions.  "  If  he  had  been  com- 
monplace he  never  would  have  been  Fra  Lippo." 

And  the  decision  of  her  ideas  were  emphasized 
by  the  vim  with  which  she  slapped  paper-covered 
novels  into  the  box  she  was  packing. 

The  season  was  almost  over.  A  little  later  and 
the  last  stray  from  the  cobble-stones  would  have 
drifted  away  from  the  green  things  of  the  woods, 
and  the  whisper  of  the  creeping  waters.  The 
pink  shells  again  murmur  to  each  other  their  own 
tale  of  the  ocean  depths,  and  do  not  have  their 
voices  drowned  by  the  harsh,  hollow  laughter  of 
those  ruthless  giants  of  the  summer  months. 

And  when  the  day's  light  fades,  and  the  sea- 
stars  sparkle  up  from  the  shadows,  only  the  alder 
and  the  sweet  bay  bend  to  watch  them,  and  the 
flash  of  white  fire  lights  no  longer  tragedies  of 
soul. 


296  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

What  I  do 

And  -what  I  dream,  include  thee,  as  the  wine 
Must  taste  of  its  own  grapes. 

BROWNING. 

Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting, 

On  the  shifting 
Currents  of  the  restless  heart. 

LONGFELLOW. 

Do  you  know  a  lovely  old  town  of  South  Caro- 
lina that  lies  near  to  the  piney  woods  of  the  Pee- 
dee?  A  quaint,  quiet  place,  that  lived  its  life 
before  the  innovation  of  railroads,  and  that  echoes 
now  through  shady  avenues  its  memories  of  Corn- 
wallis  and  the  Revolution;  where  the  tiny  ferns 
grow  thick  over  the  graves  of  the  English  dead, 
and  the  wide  streets  in  their  sheet  of  white  sand 
give  you  glimpses  as  of  new  fallen  snow.  A 
place  to  rest;  a  place  that  the  world  goes  by,  not 
knowing.  And  in  its  repose  began  the  new  life  of 
those  two  who  had  turned  away  from  the  world 
and  its  opinion — ignoring  its  social  laws — recog- 
nizing only  their  duty  to  each  other,  and  not 
fearing  the  judgment  of  God  on  their  lives.  Why 
should  they?  Did  He  not  know?  So  they  thought, 
thus  they  told  each  other  through  the  happy  days 
of  the  late  autumn,  an  autumn  that  lasts  there 
until  the  violets  come.  And  so  between  the  sea- 


GALEED.  297 

sons  they  crowd  winter,  with  his  snow  wreaths, 
back  into  the  North. 

Ah!  the  work  that  was  done  through  those 
helpful  days!  all  the  ambitions  that  had  drifted 
in  the  minds  of  each  for  so  long,  were  now  made 
tangible,  and  possible,  through  their  completed 
lives. 

"  God  is  good  that  he  sends  thoughts  and  work 
that  helps  people  to  be  philosophical,"  she  said  to 
him,  one  day,  after  watching  him  as  he  wrote  in 
their  sunny  little  hou^e  close  to  the  piney  woods. 

He  looked  up  from  the  scribbled  page,  smiling 
across  at  her. 

"  Come  here,"  he  said,  a  command  that  was 
quickly  obeyed,  and,  slipping  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  he  drew  her  down  until  she  sat  facing  him 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  Now,  what  is  it?"  he  asked,  curiously.  "  What 
has  given  you  a  thankfulness  for  philosophy?  Do 
you  need  it  so  much?  Do  you  find  life  such  a 
burthen?" 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  earnestly,  and  drew 
his  head  close  against  her  breast. 

"  Don't  do  that;  I  can't  see  you,"  he  protested. 

"  You  did  not  use  to  object,"  she  said,  quietly, 
but  with  a  strange  light  for  one  moment  in  her 
eyes. 

He  looked  at  her,  and,  taking  her  hands,  placed 
them  once  more  about  his  throat. 

"  You  must  not  think  or  speak  like  that,  dear," 
he  said,  gently;  "  it  is  wrong.  Come,  tell  me  what 
prompted  that  speech  of  philosophy." 


298  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing past  him  at  the  yellow  shimmer  of  November 
leaves  seen  through  the  window. 

"Well?" 

"  Of  how  hard  this  isolation  would  be  for  you  if 
you  had  not  work  that  was  creative — if  you  were 
not  given  the  faculty  for  living  in  the  lives  of  your 
ideals,  and  escaping  much  that  would  he  hard  for 
another  man." 

"  You  think  it  isolation?" 

"I? — no,  no,  not  for  me,"  she  said,  hurriedly, 
her  hands  again  gaining  their  caressive  tendencies; 
"but  for  you,  who  have  been  used  to  an  active 
life — a  life  in  the  world,  of  the  world — very  much 
of  the  world,"  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  banter 
in  her  air. 

"Yes,  sadly  of  the  world,"  he  acknowledged. 
"But  you  have  been  teaching  me  repentance  for 
many  wild  wanderings." 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  content?"  she  asked, 
with  a  loving  woman' s  persistence,  the  sort  of  per- 
sistence that  is  more  likely  to  drift  a  man  out  of 
content  than  into  it.  If  women  would  but  think 
of  that! 

"Do  I  not  look  it?"  and  he  smiled  up  at  her 
happily. 

"Yes,  you  do.  You  always  seem  so;  but  ah! 
my  dear,  I  am  so  afraid — so  afraid!" 

It  was  the  one  little  rift  in  the  lute;  would  it 
ever  still  the  music  to  which  their  lives  were 
lived?  He  wondered  that,  sometimes,  and  could 
only  hope  that  those  fears  would  vanish  as  their 


GALEED.  299 

future  became  their  past  and  she  learned  how 
much  she  was  to  his  life. 

Words  were  useless  to  her.  With  her  woman's 
love  she  had  no  thought  of  having  made  any  sac- 
rifice in  giving  up  the  world's  approval  of  her 
life;  the  world's  opinion  was  as  nothing  to  her 
compared  with  his.  But  the  thought  to  be  com- 
bated, the  thought  of  dread  was — Would  the 
time  ever  come  when  the  world's  influence  would 
force  him  to  look  at  her  with  the  world's 
eyes? 

"  Our  lives  are  our  own  to  spend  as  we  choose," 
so  they  had  determined,  feeling  that  God,  who 
knew,  would  not  judge  harshly.  They  would 
live  away  from  the  world  and  its  pettiness  of 
opinions.  They  would  live  useful,  good  lives. 
Ah!  the  dreams  of  philanthropy  they  were  to  put 
into  execution  when  their  work  made  their 
plans  practicable.  So  they  had  thought  and 
dreamed,  and  said  over  and  over:  "  If  we  live  true 
to  our  ideals  and  each  other,  how  can  regret  ever 
come?" 

Regret  had  not.  But  a  super-sensitiveness  had 
been  given  by  Fate  in  exchange  for  the  coin  of 
their  lives;  and  sometimes  the  fancies  born  of  it 
would  leave  her  filled  with  vague  fears,  and  the 
knowledge  that  love  could  bear  terrible  revelations 
to  the  soul. 

She  was  working  as  closely  at  her  art  work  as 
he  was  at  his  writing  in  those  days. 

"  I  believe  I  will  eventually  paint,"  she  said  to 
him  one  day,  when  a  landscape  sketch  in  oil  was 


300  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

set  up  on  the  high  mantel  for  their  criticism,  and 
to  dry. 

"You  do  paint,  and  paint  well,"  he  said, 
decidedly. 

"Oh,  I  know  I  do  creditable  work,"  she 
returned;  "but  I  have  done  little.  Black  and 
white  has  contented  me  until  of  late;  but  now 
I  think  you  are  making  me  ambitious  in  so  much. 
I  have  felt  lately  my  own  possibilities  for  work 
in  color  as  I  never  did  before,  only—"  and  she 
laughed  a  little,  "  I  fear  I  shall  have  trouble  with 
heads — the  heads  of  men." 

He  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"Because?" 

"Because  they  are  all  sure  to  look  at  me  with 
your  eyes.  Yes,  they  are;  I  tried  to  do  an  ideal 
head  yesterday,  and  against  my  intentions  the 
mouth  smiled  at  me,  just  as — just  as  you  are 
doing  now. 

"Now?"  he  asked,  kissing  her.  But  after  a 
little  she  continued,  reflectively: 

"I  seem  to  do  no  work  in  which  there  is  not 
something  of  you,  some  little  bit  of  your  face  or 
personality."  And  then  she  looked  at  him  and 
laughed.  But  there  was  little  sound  of  merriment 
in  it  as  she  said: 

"In  the  future,  when  you  are  a  respectable 
member  of  society,  how  will  you  like  to  be  con- 
fronted by  vague  portraits  of  yourself  gazing  at 
you  from  second-rate  canvases?" 

"Hush!" 

"And  saying  over  to  you  the  nonsense  we 
talked  as  they  were  painted?" 


GALEED.  301 

"  It  is  not  nonsense.  In  your  heart  you  know 
it  is  not,"  he  said,  clasping  her  close  and  lifting 
her  face  upward.  ' '  How  can  you  hurt  yourself 
and  me  by  speaking  so?  My  own — mine!" 

11  How  long  would  you  care  to  claim  me?" 

"Well — about  fifty  years." 

"  You  think  that?"  * 

"I  think  that  I  think  it,"  he  said,  teasingly, 
unwilling  to  encourage  her  in  those  touches  of 
morbidness  he  had  helped  her  to.  But  she  gave 
him  no  smile  in  answer,  only  drew  back  from  him 
a  little. 

"That  sounds  like — 'I  believe — help  thou  my 
unbelief,'  "  she  said,  and  dropped  down  hopelessly 
on  a  chair  beside  him. 

He  leaned  over  her,  and  with  all  loving  words 
and  an  aching  heart  tried  to  find  words  that  would 
give  her  assurance  of  her  sad  injustice. 

Thus  so  often  a  word  carelessly  spoken  would 
evolve  fancies  and  fears  that  all  earnestness  of 
devotion  could  not  quite  quell  in  her  mind. 

It  was  not  regret — no,  only  retribution  from  the 
thing  that  they  had  ignored — the  world. 

The  influence  of  its  millions  of  souls  can  not 
be  set  aside  by  the  atoms;  subtly,  unconsciously, 
they  will  be  permeated  by  the  sunshine,  or  set 
aside  in  the  gloom  by  its  silent  force. 


302  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 


CHAPTER  XYIH. 

"  Whence  earnest  thou?" 
"  From  the  nether  hell." 
"  What  is  thy  name?" 
"Despair." 

She  grew  little  by  little  to  be  imbued  with  the 
idea  that  he  was  so  much  more  necessary  to  her 
than  she  was  to  him — perhaps  because  she  had 
heard  so  much  of  those  past  days  he  had  lived 
before  he  knew  her.  Once  or  twice  she  found 
herself  watching  him  curiously,  and  wondering  if 
the  time  would  ever  come  when  she  would  be 
counted  but  as  one  of  the  beads  in  his  rosary  of 
loves. 

She  would  be  ashamed  of  such  thoughts,  and 
repentingly  promised  herself  never  to  harbor  them 
in  her  heart  again.  But  her  own  humility  of  soul 
made  her  see  that  now  she  would  be  deemed 
unworthy  by  all  but  him,  and  perhaps — 

And  so  the  winter  crept  on,  and  brought  with  it 
a  new  fear — one  over  which  she  wept  in  a  misery 
of  anguish  and  despair  through  many  a  night — 
one  neither  of  them  could  ignore.  In  their  love 
they  had  thought  only  of  each  other.  What  did 
it  matter  that  there  could  be  no  marriage  ceremony 
when  each  felt  the  force  of  their  mutual  truth? 
That  had  been  the  one,  the  only  idea  of  consider- 
ation. 


GALEED. 

Lately  she  had  feared  he  might  some  day  look 
on  her  with  the  cleared  vision  of  the  world  in  his 
eyes.  But  now  there  had  come  to  her  something 
so  much  more  terrible.  The  madness  of  prophecy 
that  whispered  of  how  their  children  would  look 
on  her  in  the  days  to  come. 

"Ah!  God!  if  it  were  only  right!"  he  breathed, 
clasping  her  hidden  face  close  to  him,  and  feeling 
her  hot  tears  on  his  hand. 

It  was  the  first  acknowledgment  he  had  ever 
made  of  any  evil  in  their  lives  together. 

"I  think  I  have  lost  all  power  of  judging 
between  right  and  wrong,"  she  whispered.  "I 
know  now  what  it  is  to  be  a  wicked,  wicked 
woman,  and  it  is  terrible." 

He  got  up,  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  little 
room  where  they  had  been  so  happy  for  so  many 
weeks;  where  all  their  happiness  stolen  from  the 
world  had  been  knit  by  fate  into  lashes  of  remorse. 

"I  feel  that  I  want  to  lie  down  at  your  feet 
to-night,  and  die  there,"  he  said,  slowly,  his  eyes 
full  of  misery  at  the  sight  of  her  despair. 

"  Through  regret?"  she  asked,  raising  her  head. 

He  nodded,  but  did  not  speak.  All  the  loves 
of  the  past  with  their  flushes  of  earth  seemed 
coarse  to  him  as  he  looked  at  her  so  helpless — so 
connected  in  his  mind  with  an  inborn  sense  of 
purity,  that  despite  her  life  had  seemed  untainted. 
To  him,  she  was  his  wife,  though  he  knew  that  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  she  would  never  again  be 
placed  on  a  level  with  honest  mothers,  or  innocent 
daughters. 


304  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

For  them  the  greatest  blessing  God  grants  to 
earthly  love  was  turned  into  a  curse,  that  would 
not  even  die  with  their  deaths. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Drink  not  together  from  the  same  cup  until  the  last  drop. 
For  after  such  intoxicating  draughts,  the  last  drop  is  a  tear  of 
blood.  SPANISH  PROVERB. 

What  is  there  that  could  be  written  of  that 
spring-time  that  could  convey  any  idea  of  what 
those  lives  lived  through  between  their  love  and 
their  remorse?  Each  day  binding  their  hearts 
closer,  yet  each  day  bringing  clearer  to  them  the 
knowledge  that  their  future  must  be  apart. 

Across  that  space  they  moved  as  those  lovers 
of  Dante  moved  across  that  gray  gloom  of  hell, 
hand-in-hand,  an  added  misery  evolved  from  the 
love  in  each  other's  eyes. 

In  May  her  child  was  born,  a  little  soft-skinned 
mite,  that  looked  at  her  drowsily  with  its  father's 
eyes.  But  back  of  the  lazy  baby  stare  she  could 
see  what  no  other  could — a  sickening  loathing, 
a  mute  reproach  for  the  years  to  come. 

"I  can  not  stand  it!"  she  moaned,  piteously, 
even  while  all  the  mother's  awakened  nature 
longed  for  the  baby  lips,  and  baby  fingers.  "I 
can  not — take  it  away." 

Yet  it  was  the  gift  of  the  God  whose  judgment 
they  had  not  feared. 


GALEED.  305 

And  he,  its  father,  loving  her,  willing  to  give 
his  life  to  her  content,  could  only  hear  those  cries 
of  late  conscience  in  silence — a  silence  that  left 
grim  lines  of  repression  about  his  mouth,  and  the 
strained  look  of  a  speechless  misery  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  from  a 
tear-wet  pillow,  "I  wish  I  had  been  either  good 
enough  to  have  kept  above  the  cause  of  all  this 
that  has  come  to  us,  or  else  that  I  was  so  bad 
that  I  should  not  care.  If  I  could  only  be  alto- 
gether bad,  I  should  be  so  much  happier  now." 

It  was  an  echo  of  so  much  that  had  been  in  his 
own  thoughts,  an  echo  that  sounds  through  all 
remorse  for  sins  of  commission. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  gently,  "you  could  never  be 
wholly  bad;  there  are  four  of  us,  you  and  I,  the 
good  and  the  bad  in  each,  like  two  distinct 
natures." 

"  But  over  which  have  I  had  most  influence?" 
she  asked,  wistfully. 

"Over  which?"  and  he  dropped  on  his  knees 
close  to  her  couch.  "  There  has  been  given  me  a 
clearer  vision  of  good  and  evil;  there  are  better 
things  in  my  heart,  in  my  thoughts  now,  than 
there  have  ever  been." 

"  Through  this  lesson  that  has  brought  misery, 
or—" 

"  How  slow  you  are  to  believe  in  yourself,"  he 
smiled,  sadly,  "through  you,  you,  you." 

Ah!  those  days  of  spring-time,  when  their  long- 
ing hands  lingered  so  at  every  touch,  each  feeling 

the  time  growing  closer  when  their  lives  together 
20 


306  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

must  end,  a  phantom  in  their  hearts  that  never 
vanished,  but  of  which  they  avoided  speech. 

He  had  talked  to  her  of  marriage,  of  a  time  in 
the  future  when  it  might  be  possible — through 
divorce.  But  to  all  that  she  had  only  repeated, 
"  It  is  too  late." 

And  neither  her  own  love  nor  his  could  change 
that  decision. 

"It  is  too  late  for  the  child's  sake,"  she  had 
said,  in  answer  to  his  wishes;  "and  for  myself. 
Do  not  be  vexed  with  me,  I  have  grown  over-sen- 
sitive and  morbid,  perhaps,  but  I  know  that  the 
thought  would  be  with  me  always,  that  you  mar- 
ried me  through  pity;  it  would  be  a  skeleton  in 
our  lives  that  would  kill  all  content.  I  know  it, 
not  through  you,  dear,  never  by  fault  of  yours, 
but  through  myself,  my  own  love  that  has  grown 
jealous  of  every  glance  from  your  eyes;  my  own 
sensitiveness  that  would  make  your  life  one  of 
dread,  and  mine  one  of  morbid  imaginings.  Ah, 
I  have  thought  out  all  the  truth  as  I  lay  here — I 
see — I  know." 

No  plans  had  yet  been  matured  for  their  future, 
or  that  of  the  child,  only  she  was  to  live  alone, 
and  in  some  way  try  to  live  that  blame  would  not, 
in  time,  come  to  the  murmuring  little  mite,  whose 
hands  he  kissed  so  often,  and  so  tenderly,  with 
sometimes  a  half-mad  determination  to  keep 
them  both  always  with  him,  despite  remorse, 
despite  fate,  despite  all  laws. 

Did  the  angels  who  guard  human  lives  think 
those  two  souls  had  suffered  enough?  Was  that 


GALEED.  307 

the  reason  that  God' s  kiss  closed  the  baby  eyes 
one  May  morning  just  as  the  sun' s  rays  brought 
in  a  new  day?  And  those  two,  watching  together 
its  last  struggle  for  breath,  knew  that  its  sleep 
was  forever,  its  gaze  would  never  again  bring  them 
reproach. 

Only  the  memories — ah,  the  memories! 

"It  is  over,"  she  said,  in  a  dull  way,  when 
they  had  walked  in  the  dusk  of  the  night  back 
from  the  little  mound  in  the  burial-ground — the 
mound  that  held  a  buried  past.  "  You  must  go 
back,  live  in  the  world  again.  This  has  been  a 
season  in  dreamland — dreams  beautiful,  dreams 
horrible — but  it  must  cease." 

"And  you? — oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!" 

"Don't,"  she  whispered,  "it  is  late  for  me  to 
speak  so,  I  suppose,  but  it  is  right." 

"  I  know,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  right,  and  it  is 
wrong;  but  to  remember  what  is  right  I  need 
you — your  help  always." 

"You  will  always  have  it,"  she  said,  smiling 
wanly,  "you  must  try  to  unlearn  a  philosophy  of 
nature  we  drifted  into  adopting,  and  learn  instead 
the  philosophy  of  the  world  that  tells  us,  while  of 
the  earth,  souls  must  conform  to  its  moral  laws." 

"I  do  not  know — I  can  not  think,"  he  said, 
brokenly.  Her  hands  were  trembling  in  his  clasp 
and  he  could  feel  that  the  steadiness  of  her  voice, 
the  determination  to  reason  thus  calmly,  was  cost- 
ing her  all  the  strength  she  had  to  give.  That  piti- 
ful struggle  touched  him  as  no  expressed  emotion 
could  have  done,  and  with  a  great  sob  he  drew 


308  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

her  close,  and  she  felt  hot  tears  following  the 
kisses  that  were  pressed  on  her  face,  her  eyes,  her 
mouth!  Who  dreams  that  the  greatest  width  of 
loss  is  borne  to  humanity  across  graves  in  the 
earth?  What  of  that  coffin  in  which  the  dead 
stir  at  every  pulse  of  the  blood? — the  dead  whose 
voice  will  not  be  silenced,  and  whose  moans 
drive  people  mad  sometimes — the  dead  who  lie 
in  the  heart? 

"Ah,  you  are  cruel,"  she  breathed,  trem- 
blingly, drawing  his  head  down  on  her  shoulder 
with  the  caressing  mother-touch  innate  in  some 
women.  "  I  am  trying  to  reason  clearly — at  last; 
for  I  see  clearly  now,  as  I  know  you  do,  only  you 
could  not  say  it  to  me,  I  know;  but  the  thought  of 
losing  you  so  is  easier  than  some  of  the  fancies 
that  remorse  brought — the  thought  of  the  time 
when  you  would  grow  ashamed  of  me,  perhaps." 

"  And  you  know  my  love  as  little  as  that?" 

"Don't  speak  in  reproach,  now,"  she  said,  half 
pleadingly;  "I  could  not  help  my  fears  for  the 
future;  I  can  see  their  causes  so  clearly  of  late. 
They  were  a  natural  consequence  of  our  life. 
No  sensitive  woman  could  rise  entirely  beyond 
them,  I  think,  and  I  feel  that  they  would  have 
killed  our  happiness  in  the  future.  No  devotion, 
no  earnestness  of  love  could  ever  still  altogether 
that  feeling." 

"You  can  reason,  I  can  not  yet,"  he  answered, 
in  a  tired  way.  "  I  can  only  ache — ache  with  the 
thought  of  what  our  loss  of  each  other  will  mean 
— oh,  God!— the  days  and  the  nights!" 


GALEED.  309 

"Hush!"  she  said,  closing  Ms  lips  with  her  own. 
"Do  you  think  /  do  not  remember?  Something 
in  this  suffering  has  brought  me  to  a  realization 
of  a  higher  life  for  each  of  us;  something  of  the 
peace  on  our  dead  baby's  face  has  given  me 
strength  to-day — lifted  me  out  of  my  own  earthi- 
ness." 

"You  are  good,"  he  said,  earnestly,  looking 
up  at  her;  "you  have  always  been  good,  and  you 
are  right  now.  The  lack  of  that  moral  obligation 
has  been  the  one  blot  on  our  lives  together.  It 
has  brought  us  suffering,  and  would,  I  suppose, 
continue  to  do  so,  only  I  am  not  good  like  you, 
dear.  I  can  not  but  wonder  if,  after  all,  the  pos- 
session of  each  other  is  not  worth  any  suffering 
life  might  bring." 

A  long  time  they  sat  silent  after  those  words  of 
his  that  had  encompassed  all  their  senses  for  so 
long.  Oh!  the  floods  of  memory  surging  through 
each  mind  that  made  them  clasp  closer  their 
hands  in  the  dark  of  the  room,  where  only  the 
moon  shone.  Looking  into  his  eyes  as  he  knelt 
beside  her,  his  arms  about  her  waist,  something 
in  his  face  brought,  as  in  a  vision,  the  face  of  his 
child  there  instead,  and  something  like  a  touch  of 
the  dead  child's  spirit  strengthened  her  when  she 
spoke. 

"  We  have  thought  that  so  long,  dear,  and  it 
seemed  right  for  awhile;  but  it  has  all  been 
changed  by  our  babe's  little  life.  All  seems 
changed  but  the  knowledge  that  we  have  lives 
left  us  through  which  we  may  atone.  Strange 


310  IX   LOVE  S  DOMAINS. 

how  the  shuttle  of  fate  has  altered  life's  colors 
for  us!  You  say  my  influence  has  raised  your 
thoughts,  your  work  to  higher  ideals.  Dear,  so 
dear!  I  seem  to  see  that  this  renunciation  will 
help  to  keep  them  there,  while  my  continued  life 
with  you  now  would  lower  them — drag  all  our 
thoughts  to  a  level  from  which  we  could  never 
again  look  in  our  child's  eyes  in  any  after-life. 
It  has  come  to  me  slowly,  this  understanding,  but 
it  will  never  leave  me  again." 

Was  his  own  spirit  touched  by  that  subtle, 
unseen  presence  they  had  brought  earthward? 
Something  stilled  that  mad  passion  of  protest, 
as  he  drew  her  face  to  his  and  kissed  the  pure, 
sad  eyes  with  a  feeling  akin  to  that  with  which 
he  had  kissed  their  child  in  its  coffin  only  a  few 
hours  before. 

"  If  I  dare  pray  for  anything  after  my  wrongs 
to  you,"  he  said,  screening  his  face  with  her 
hands,  "it  will  be  that  I  can  live  so  as  to  help 
you — in  all  highest  desires — " 

The  sweetness  of  ideal  hopes  that  ever  rises 
afresh  from  under  the  trampling  feet  of  human- 
ity! 

And  the  clasp  of  their  hands  was  the  silent 
register  of  that  prayer  that  each  felt  was  a  prom- 
ise. What  matter  though  their  past  had  shown 
them  what  brittle  thiogs  human  intents  were? 
This  was  a  new  present.  After  a  little,  she  said, 
reflectively:  "When  we  are  apart,  do  not  think  of 
me  as  wholly  despairing.  Work  brings  its  own 
blessings,  and  I  have  work  to  do — work  of  atone- 


GALEED.  311 

ment.  I  am  not  despairing  to-night.  I  am  hap- 
pier than  I  could  think  possible.  That  seems 
strange  to  say,  loving  you  as  I  do.  It  is  not 
really  happiness  either — only  a  sense  of  peace. 
Do  you  understand?' ' 

"Yes — I  know.     May  it  always  be  with  you." 

To  them  both  it  was  the  first  f  ragrance  from  the 
flowers  of  sacrifice  to  duty — the  fruit  of  which  is 
garnered  for  humanity  on  the  other  side  of 
death. 

"Of  the  divinity  of  that  book  called  Holy," 
she  said,  after  a  little  while,  in  a  reflective  way, 
"  I  used  to  doubt.  I  never  was  quite  sure.  But 
I  do  know  that  the  violation  of  those  command- 
ments to  humanity  bring  with  them  their  own 
punishment.  Life  has  proved  for  us  that  the 
foundation  for  work  that  will  honor  God  and 
each  other  can  only  be  reached  through  this 
atonement." 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  she  added:  "Dear, 
it  is  not  to  your  heart  I  speak  now." 

"I know, "he  said,  sadly,  earnestly.  "It  is 
the  soul  to  the  soul  drawn  close  to  your  own  and 
our  child's,  until  I  see  as  you  see,  and  know  for 
a  truth  that  no  love  of  earth,  no  singleness  of 
heart,  or  purity  of  intent  can  make  amends  for 
the  breaking  of  God's  laws.  Those  who  dream 
of  it  will  awaken  to  the  same  knowledge." 

Thus  two  souls  parted  there  in  that  old  town 
of  the  South— two  souls  that  had  helped  each 
other  to  all  joy,  to  all  pain,  to  all  high  resolves, 
during  one  sweet,  short  year  of  life. 


IN  LOVE'S  DOMAIN*. 

And  as  a  monument  to  their  past,  a  little  mound 
is  nestled  among  the  fragrance  of  the  pine-needles, 
and  above  it  a  tiny  tablet  bearing  no  name,  only 
the  one  word — "Graleed." 


EPILOGUE. 


"Well?"  said  the  writer  of  "Galeed,"  turning 
to  Harvey,  as  the  Poet,  reading  the  story  to  them, 
ceased  at  the  shadowy  scene  of  the  parting — 
"Well?" 

"Good,"  answered  the  publisher,  decidedly. 
"It  is  peculiar  enough  to  find  many  enemies, 
and  you  are  about  the  last  man  I  should  have 
expected  that  sort  of  a  story  from,  but  I  want 
it." 

"I  do  not  think  I  shall  care  so  much  for  the 
enemies  it  meets,"  said  the  writer,  thoughtfully, 
"  if  only  now  and  then  it  may  fall  into  the  hands 
of  some  woman  and  take  with  it  a  lesson." 

"  To  women  alone?"  asked  the  Poet. 

"  No,  not  to  women  alone.  But — women  suffer 
most. " 

And  with  that  final  remark  on  "Galeed,"  he 
picked  up  the  craniological  romance  as  if  to  drop 
the  subject  of  his  own. 

"  Pretty  little  thing,"  was  the  Professor's  crit- 
icism on  "The  Lady  of  the  Garden,"  as  he  looked 
over  his  spectacles  at  the  most  youthful  of  the 
trio;  "pretty;  but  your  old  woman  has  too  much 

(313) 


314  IN   LOVE'S   DOMAINS. 

poetry  in  her  for  an  herb-gatherer — not  natural, 
at  all." 

"Hunt  up  some  other  point  for  criticism,  can't 
you, " remarked  the  Bohemian,  "especially  after 
the  poetical  soul  you  have  managed  to  fasten  to 
those  pages.  And  then,  who  can  say  what  is,  or  is 
not  a  natural  character,  since  people  so  constantly 
meet  with  surprises  in  themselves,  under  different 
influences.  We  never  quite  know  our  own  nature 
until  someone  else  helps  us  understand  it.  So 
many  things  that  may  be  true  of  us  are  yet  not  nat- 
ural to  us,  so  who  can  draw  the  line?  To  you,  who 
are  practically  doubtful  of  most  things,  that  old 
woman  may  have  shown  but  the  commonplace 
side  of  her  nature,  while  this  other  fellow,  Aber- 
deen, may  have,  by  the  force  of  his  own  sympathy 
or  personality,  made  possible  the  telling  of  her 
story  in  a  manner  unusual." 

"No  argument  in  it,  either,"  continued  the  Pro- 
fessor. "  It  is  easier  to  idealize  a  man  after  he  has 
been  buried  a  few  years  than  it  would  be  to  live 
with  him  during  that  time.  Perhaps  the  flowers 
were  a  peace-offering  for  the  curtain  lectures  she 
had  given  him  while  living." 

"Just  be  a  little  lenient  to  my  first  attempt," 
suggested  the  young  author,  "Here's  Mr.  Allan; 
he  will  not  be  so  sensitive;  pick  him  to  pieces." 

' '  No.  r  11  leave  that  for  the  professional  critics, 
it's  too  ultra-emotional  for  me  to  puzzle  my  brain 
over;  the  man  in  it  has  so  many  fine  theories  on 
the  sublimity  and  beauty  in  friendship,  at  the 
same  time  that  he  is  sweeping  it  out  of  existence. 


EPILOGUE,  315 

He  is  always  thinking  and  talking  of  high  ideals 
of  life  and  use,  but  in  every  attempt  to  reach  them 
lie  stumbles  back  to  the  foot  of  the  figurative 
ladder." 

"I  fear  many  of  us  stumble  in  the  same 
attempt,"  was  the  comment  of  the  Poet. 

"And  as  for  the  woman,  she  strikes  me  as 
being  one  of  those  people  who  are  never  happy 
imless  they  are  miserable,  made  up  of  spasmodi- 
cal fits  of  rapture  and  agony,  and  preferring  it  to 
commonplace,  uneventful  content.  I've  no  doubt 
if  her  husband  had  been  introduced,  he  would 
have  proved  a  good  sort  of  a  fellow,  with  his 
nervous  system  a  wreck.  But  those  two  charac- 
ters blindfold  each  other,  morally,  all  through  the 
story,  and  then  wonder  that  they  can't  see.  They 
make  a  plaything  of  fire,  and  let  their  chronicler 
moralize  over  their  burns.  It  is  not  an  unusual 
story." 

"  But  unusual  to  be  told,"  interrupted  the  Poet, 
turning  champion  for  the  Bohemian,  who  listened 
in  silence  to  the  comments. 

"And  it  has  no  plot — " 

"Neither  have  lives,  only  plans;  but  the  plans 
are  written  of  God,  so  one  has  a  precedent  for 
plotless  stories.  But  what  of  your  own,  Pro- 
fessor?" 

"Oh,  well,  mine  does  not  pretend  to  be  literary; 
but  there's  an  argument  in  it,  anyway." 

"And  a  lesson  in  'Galeed' — imagine  the  per- 
fection of  their  lives  if  their  bond  had  not  been 
what  we  call  sin." 


316  IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

"  Humph!  the  chances  are  that  they  would  not 
have  been  nearly  so  attractive  to  each  other.  The 
barriers  raised  enhanced  the  value  of  the  thing 
suffered  for.  The  same  rule  holds  good  in  relig- 
ious fanatics — give  a  tinge  of  oppression  to  their 
sect  and  straightway  they  will  march  to  martyr- 
dom for  it." 

"Ah!  then  you  really  class  love  as  a  religion?" 

"No — not  at  all — merely  a  figure  of  speech." 

"Don't  you  think,  for  a  man  who  agreed  to 
leave  criticism  to  the  critics,  you  are  raising  a 
good  many  objections?"  remarked  Harvey,  turn- 
ing from  the  manuscript  of  "  Galeed."  "  Not  to 
the  style  or  calibre  of  work,  but  simply  with  the 
people,  because  you  do  not  happen  to  know  them. 
Though  they  may  not  be  your  sort,  they  will  serve 
as  a  foil  to  your  '  Roinaunt,'  so  don't  quarrel  with 
them." 

"  Then  you  really  think  well  enough  of  them  to 
publish  them  together?"  asked  the  Poet;  "mine, 
too?" 

"Yours,  too,  my  modest  friend,"  said  Harvey, 
showing  in  his  voice  the  liking  he  had  formed  for 
the  young  fellow.  "And  another  one  from  you 
when  you  can  do  it — something  less  pastoral 
next  time.  You  and  Allan  might  form  a  literary 
partnership;  how  is  that  for  a  scheme?  1  will  be 
your  publisher." 

"We  must  have  Professor,  also,"  said  the 
Bohemian. 

"No,  you  will  not  have  Professor,  either,"  said 
that  individual;  "I've  told  my  last  love  story." 


EPILOGUE.  317 

"Tell  some  other  sort  of  a  story,  then,''  sug- 
gested the  Poet. 

"  I  think  not.  In  all  the  jabber  over  the  three 
of  these,  I  have  not  yet  heard  a  word  as  to  the 
theories  we  started  to  prove." 

"Never  mind,"  grinned  Harvey;  "you've 
pulled  each  other  to  pieces  enough  without  start- 
ing on  that  tack.  Leave  that  for  the  public." 

"  Harvey,"  said  the  author  of  "  Galeed,"  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  memory,  "what  about  that 
incomparable  specimen  of  womanhood  to  whom 
you  were  so  devoted  when  we  began  these  stories? 
Has  the  attachment  that  existed  then  been 
declared  unending  by  this  time?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  briskly,  raking  around  on 
his  desk  until  he  found  two  cards  fastened  with 
white  satin,  which  he  dangled  aloft  on  a  cigar- 
holder;  '•''Tiers  has,  two  weeks  ago — to  another 
fellow!  Oh,  I  see  you  chuckling,  Professor;  but 
that  was  not  a  love  story,  only  an  episode.  By 
the  way,"  he  added,  shoving  the  manuscripts  into 
a  drawer,  "in  going  over  these  stories — colored 
as  they  are  with  the  personalities  of  all  three  of 
you  as  I  know  you— I  have  been  asking  myself 
a  question  that  is  not  likely  to  occur  to  your 
other  readers:  In  these  wanderings  'In  Lore's 
Domains '  how  much  of  these  chronicles  is  imag- 
inary and  how  much  is  history?" 

Do  you  think  he  was  told? 

[THE  END.] 


A    000118941     4 


